Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/artforartssakeseOOvand 


-r-      o 


O        «i.  -< 

^ -  ,^   <^,:r, v^ 


N"^'    ""^t^AavHan-^-       <j^13Dnvsoi^      %a]AiNft3i\v 


i 


!r^ 


^ 


^00i;V|^ll-3\^' 


o  \  ^-'  ^    y  55     o  'I  *--  /  15  S 


■'>/ 


'^^ 


I 


^lOSANGElfXv 

o 


^      5 


%a3AiNn-3\\v 


>^QFCMIF0I?4A 


^OF-CMIFO^/^ 


^ 


^\M!BRARY6>/ 


-1    -^^ 


\MF-ll^'VCRy/K 


'Jr 


—z  cic 


O 


^lOSANCEli;j> 


'^/^aHAINOJWV 


.^fCAUfOfi»4^ 


^^AdvaaiH^ 


A\^E11NIVER%       ^lOSANCEl^A 


o 


CP    fi^ 


"^/^aJAINrtJWV 


:^ 


\WEUNIVERS'/4 


^lOSANCElfj> 


WslUBRARYQr^       ^tUBRARYQr^ 

5^1  tr^i    :5  t  fr—i 


•  o 


^^/iaJAihliiHV 


S  V  ^■: 


3 


AET  FOR  ART'S  SAKE 


SEVEN  UNIVERSITY  LECTURES    ON   THE 
TECHNIGAL  BEAUTIES  OF  PAINTING 


JOHN    0.   VAN    DYKE 

AUTHOB  OF  "  NATURE  FOB  ITS  OWN  SAKE" 


FOURTEENTH  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONI? 

1907 


Copyright,  1833,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNEK'S   sJONS 


1 


TO   MY  FUIEND 

M  MURENCE   HUTTOW 

I 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

The  following  lectures  were  delivered  before  the 
students  of  Princeton  College,  Columbia  College, 
and  Rutgers  College.  Their  reception  as  lectures 
has  led  to  their  publication  in  book  form.  The 
subject  with  which  tbey  deal  is  one  well  calculated 
to  arouse  differences  of  opinion.  Modern  painting 
is  so  largely  a  matter  of  taste  that  no  one,  not  even 
an  artist,  is  allowed  to  dogmatize  about  it,  or  lay 
down  arbitrary  rules  for  its  production.  Sometimes 
a  candid  statement  of  one's  view  or  preference  helps 
others  to  a  better  understanding  or  a  keener  enjoy- 
ment, and  if  these  lectures  prove  serviceable  in  that 
respect  their  object  will  have  been  fulfilled. 

New  Bkunswick,  N.  J., 
February-,  1893. 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

Introduction 1 

Lectcre  I.  Art  for  Art's  Sake.  — As  to  the  subject  of  pictures — 
The  misunderstanding  between  the  artist  and  his  public — The 
literary  idea  ox.  the  pictorial  idea — What  is  meant  by  an  idea  in 
art — The  artist's  mental  equipment — An  observer  rather  than  a 
philosopher  or  a  story-teller — His  keenness  of  vision  in  seeing 
beauties  in  nature — The  artist's  material  equipment — The  lim- 
its of  painting — Only  one  sense  (that  of  sight),  to  which  a  paint- 
ing may  appeal — Confusion  of  the  arts — Their  proper  division 
— ('onfusion  of  literary  and  pictorial  motive  illustrated— Cab- 
anel's  Tamar — Painting  cannot  recognize  time-movement— Ex- 
amples from  the  old  masters  —  Examples  from  the  moderns, 
Millet,  Poussin  et  a^.— The  painter's  idea,  to  be  comprehended  by 
the  unaided  eye  and  his  language  that  of  form,  light,  air,  color — 
Necessity  of  a  pictorial  idea  being  a  beautiful  idea— Broad  mean- 
ing of  the  word  "  beauty  " — Includes  the  forceful,  the  true,  the 
characteristic,  but  not  the  repulsive  or  the  disgusting — Pure  pic- 
torial art  v.t.  anecdotal  art — Illustrative  art — The  aim  of  art  in 
ancient  Greece  and  Italy  not  the  aim  of  art  in  modern  Prance  and 
America — The  ideal  vs.  the  individual — The  change  of  motive  il- 
lustrated in  landscape — Modern  landscape  and  its  search  for  the 
truths  and  meanings  of  nature — But  painting  not  confined  to  nat- 
ural Ijeautics- Higher  art  in  "the  union  of  that  whicli  is  nature 
with  that  which  is  exclusively  human  " — Poetic  or  sympatlietic 
art  illustrated  in  Corot,  Daubigny  et  al. — Sublime  art — Its  ele- 
ments— The  predominance  of  the  human  clement  over  the  nature 
element — Its  rarity  -Classification  of  art  ideas  under  three  heads, 
viz.,  (1)  beauties  of  nature,  (".*)  beauties  of  nature  combined  with 
the  human  element,  (:j)  sublime  art  or  the  human  element  pre- 
dominant        5 


VI  CONTENTS 

Lecture  II.  Color. — Academic  teaching  regarding  color — Line 
vs.  color — Importance  of  both — Color  esteemed  by  painters  the 
highest  quality  of  painting — The  great  colorists — Color  theories  of 
science — Nature  of  light  and  color,  how  conveyed  to  us — Travel- 
ling power  of  color  —  Complementary  and  contrasted  colors — 
ChevreuFs  theory — Scientific  laws  to  be  deduced  therefrom — Its 
insufficiency  in  accounting  for  color-harmony — Other  scientific 
theories — The  theories  of  the  studio — Warm  tones  and  cool  tones, 
and  their  relief  oue  by  the  other,  not  necessarily  productive  of 
harmony — Use  of  primary  and  complementary  colors,  again  not 
sufficient  to  account  for  harmony — The  accord  of  similar  or  closely- 
related  colors,  attended  by  better  results — The  rhythmic  flow  of 
color  in  nature — Color  by  "  values  "  —  Fromentin  and  Stevens 
quoted — Conclusion  :  Harmony  is  a  pictorial  poetry,  the  product 
of  a  special  faculty  or  feeling,  and  not  reducible  to  law — How  it 
affects  our  senses — Taste  and  its  kinds — Charm  of  colors  low  in 
tone — Low-keyed  pictures  likely  to  be  better  than  those  in  high 
keys,  and  why — Practice  of  the  painters — Deep-toned  colors  and 
their  use  in  pictures — The  sentiment  of  deep  colors  objective — The 
sentiment  of  deep  colors  subjective — Illustrations  from  painters — 
Blight  color  and  its  use — The  superlative  quality  in  painting — The 
appeal  of  color  to  the  eye  rather  than  the  mind  Good  color  and 
its  tawdry  imitation — Short  history  of  color  as  shown  in  painting 
— Color  in  the  ancient  world — in  Italy,  Germany,  England,  France, 
Spain,  America 39 


Lecture  III.  To7ie  and  Light-and-Shade. — The  word  tone,  its 
meaning  confused,  as  shown  in  single  notes,  in  a  whole  picture — 
(1)  an  American  meaning  of  tone  as  uniformity  of  tint,  i.e., 
color-tone — Illustrations — Confusion  of  cause  and  effect  the  reason 
of  difference  between  American  and  English  views  of  tone — (2) 
English  meaning  of  tone  the  proper  distribution  of  light,  i.e., 
light-tone — Mr.  Ruskin's  definitions — The  American  and  English 
meanings  of  tone  closely  related — Tone  as  related  to  color — Diffi- 
culties of  the  problem — Examples  of  the  violation  of  tone  by 
Rembrandt  and  the  Italians — (3)  The  French  view  of  tone  or  the 
envdoppe,  i.e.,  enveloj^pt-tone.  This  is  close  of  kin  to  aerial  per- 
spective and  values — Color-tone  as  a  picture  motive — Its  qualities. 

Light-a7id-Shade. — Nature   of  light  and  of  shadow — Opposing 


CONTENTS  Vll 

forces— Light-and-shade  or  chiaroscuro  in  painting— Its  appear- 
ance in  nature— Its  necessity  in  art— The  proper  balance  of  light 
by  shade— The  transition  from  light  to  dark— Violent  transi- 
tions—The pitch  of  light— Proportion  and  gradation— Light- 
and-shade  in  composition  —  Surplus  light  and  surplus  dark— 
"  Blackness  "  in  pictures— Concentration  of  light  upon  a  fixed 
spot— One  light— Double  and  triple  lights— Centring  of  light 
for  strength  in  nature  and  in  art— Extreme  illustrations  given 
—Ancient  method  of  wedging  light  to  a  centre— No  such  violent 
practice  to-day,  but  principle  generally  adhered  to— Argument  for 
it— The  modern  spirit  against  it— The  impressionist  view  of  light- 
and-shade — Their  technical  discoveries  and  the  value  of  them  to 
art— The  change  of  pitch  in  light— Influence  of  light  on  perspec- 
tive planes— Color,  line,  etc.— Scientific  use  of  colored  shadows- 
Results  thus  far  of  Impressionism— A  serious  movement  and  en- 
titled to  respectful  consideration 'i'6 

Lecture  IV.  Linear  and  Aerial  Perspective. — Geometrical 
perspective  not  considered — Linear  perspective  defined — Its  effect 
in  nature  illustrated— The  point  of  sight— Horizon  line— Point  of 
view — Perspective  merely  an  appearance  and  not  a  real  state  of 
nature — The  ability  of  the  eye  to  see  things  as  a  unit  by  perspec- 
tive, unity  in  a  picture  one  aim  of  perspective  effects — Variations 
in  nature — Variations  in  painting — Position  of  the  point  of  sight 
— Two  points  of  sight  confusing — Effect  of  linear  perspective  on 
objects — The  diminution  of  form — Perspective,  how  obtained  by 
painters — Use  of  linear  perspective  as  picture  motive  not  so  fre- 
quent as  in  days  of  Claude  and  Poussin — Modern  abandonment  of 
great  distances  and  mountain  landscapes — Reason  why — Subjects 
chosen  by  modern  landscapists. 

Aerial  Perspective. — The  effect  of  atmosphere  on  lines,  lights, 
and  colors— Nature  of  air— Our  slight  perception  of  it — Mental  vs. 
visual  knowledge — Effects  of  atmosphere  upon  forms  in  nature  il- 
lustratcil — The  blur  of  lines  and  obliteration  of  features — Effect 
of  atmosphere  on  colors — Distance  colors— Hues  and  their  carry- 
ing power — Their  hold  by  contrast  with  the  background — The 
light  hues  generally  hold  stronger  than  the  dark  ones — The  change 
in  hues  as  an  effect  of  air — Light  colors  grow  warmer,  dark  ones 
lighter  and  sometimes  cooler— Painters  work  independent  of  rules 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

of  changing  color — Atmospheric  efFecfc  upon  lights  and  shadows 
largely  a  matter  of  contrast  with  the  background — Shadows  darker 
than  objects  casting  them — The  order  of  their  disappearance  in 
the  distance— Atmospheric  eflfects  upon  color  as  shown  in  rows  of 
trees,  etc. — Atmosphere  as  a  picture  motive — Shows  the  moods 
of  nature  or  the  moods  of  man — How  used  by  modern  painters 
— Local  color  emphasized — History  of  its  use  in  art  in  Italy,  in 
Holland  and  Flanders,  in  France,  America,  etc. — Its  extravagant 
use — The  scumble 112 

Lecture  V.  Values. — Confused  meaning  of  the  word  "  value  " 
— The  broad  meaning — Value  not  positive,  but  comparative — 
Deals  with  the  quantity  of  light  or  dark  in  a  tone  or  shade  inde- 
pendent of  color — Illustrated  in  black  and  white  work,  with 
black  as  the  unit  of  value— The  cause  of  variation  in  light  pitch 
of  various  tones  or  shades  immaterial — Value  as  caused  by  at- 
mosphere— As  caused  by  light  distribution — Value  when  color 
is  used — Values  of  the  different  colors — Scientific  percentages  of 
light  or  dark  in  hues — Value,  how  ascertained  by  the  painter — 
The  Couture-Fromentin-Blanc  use  of  the  word  as  applied  to  the 
light  or  dark  of  colors — Modern  variation  in  the  usage,  applied 
largely  to  slight  difference  in  pitch  of  light  or  dark  in  similar  or 
closely  related  hues — Illustrations  of  this — The  result  of  delicate 
values  on  color  rhythm — Cause  of  different  values  may  be  different 
positions,  different  light,  different  textures — Illustrations — Atmos- 
phere as  productive  of  values — Examples  of  their  absence  in  work 
by  Verestchagin — Present  in  Lcrolle  and  Whistler's  work — Deli- 
cacy and  subtility  in  Whistler's  values — Light-and-shade  or  chiar- 
oscuro a  fourth  cause  of  value — Objections  to  light-tone,  aerial  per- 
spective, and  chiaroscuro  being  confused  with  value — Necessary  to 
include  them  as  a  cause  of  value  merely — So  considered  and  spoken 
of  by  painters  like  Carolus-Duran,  Hunt,  and  others — The  mean- 
ing illustrated — Line  of  distinction  where  value  leaves  off  and 
chiaroscuro  is  alone  regarded — Broad  use  of  values  as  applied  to 
the  different  intensities  of  picture  planes — What  the  maintenance 
of  values  accomplishes — Unity  by  atmosphere — Proper  relations — 
False  values  illustrated — Value  as  productive  of  color  harmony — 
Fromentin  quoted — Nature  and  her  relations  of  colors — Use  of 
values  by  schools  of  the  past — In  Italy,  Holland,  Spain,  France,  etc. 
■^Its  prominence  as  an  art-means  to-day 143 


CONTENTS  IX 

Lecture  VI.  Drawing  and  Composition. — The  dispute  of  line 
vs.  color — Both  necessary  means  in  art — Drawing  defined — Its 
comprehensive  scope — Difi&culty  of  its  accomplishment — Drawing 
herein  does  not  include  methods  or  mediums  of  work — Two  kinds 
of  drawing,  (1)  classic,  and  (2)  naturalistic — Classic  drawing  and 
what  it  accomplishes — Not  realistic  in  modem  sense — More  crea- 
tive and  eclectic  than  real  or  natural — Its  beauty — Its  presence  in 
naturalistic  surr<^undings  produces  discord — Real  appearance  of 
line — Naturalistic  drawing — The  blur  and  distortion  of  line — The 
appearance  of  life — The  character  of  objects  how  given  by  draw- 
ing—Elasticity of  line  in  nature  and  art — Motion — The  human  eye 
and  the  instantaneous  camera — Immovable  vs.  changeable  nature — 
Kinds  of  line — Dictated  by  nature  of  object  drawn  and  nature  of 
artist  who  draws — Individual  treatment — Style  and  its  absence — 
History  of  drawing. 

Compositio7i. — Definition — Kinds  of  composition — Line  compo- 
sition alone  treated  herein — First  essential,  unity  of  all  objects  in 
one  scene — Isolated  figures  in  compositions — Simplicity  an  aid  to 
composition — Concentration  of  attention  on  leading  object  or  ob- 
jects— Illustrations  of  lack  of  concentration — Double  pictures  of 
Raphael,  Veronese,  and  the  Bolognese — Forms  of  line,  the  perpen- 
dicular, the  horizontal,  the  flowing  or  "line  of  beauty"  so-called, 
the  broken  or  abrupt,  the  diagonal — Line  in  composition,  repeti- 
tion, continuity,  curvature,  interchange,  radiation,  etc. — Laws  of 
composition — Prominence,  elevation,  etc. — Styles  of  Composition, 
the  pyramidal,  the  symmetrical,  the  balanced,  the  oval,  the  dia- 
mond, the  circular,  the  concave,  the  convex,  the  diagonal,  the  V, 
etc. — Modern  composition 177 

Lecture  VII.  Textures,  Sitrfaces,  and  Brush-work. — The  feat- 
ures of  objects  whereby  we  distinguish  them,  form,  color,  and  sur- 
face, or  texture — Our  perception  of  these  features — Characteristic 
surfaces — Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  on  vivid  expression — Textures  in 
nature — .Mr.  Ruskin's  classification  of  textures — General  impres- 
sions and  salient  features,  how  received  by  us — How  recorded  in 
painting — How  textures  are  rendered  by  painters — Poor  work 
done  by  the  English  and  German  schools — Hard  dry  work  by 
other  painters — Textures  in  landscape — The  test  of  good  texture 
painting — Warning  against  requiring  textures  in  every  picture— 


X  CONTENTS 

Well  suited  to  small  easel  pictures  like  the  ijenrc  paintings  of  the 
Dutch  and  French ;  but  out  of  place  in  the  large  canvas  and  the 
wall  fresco — The  latter  holds  by  the  larger  elements  of  its  con- 
struction, bright  surfaces  are  shunned — Practice  of  the  Italians 
and  French  classicists — Modern  work  in  texture  painting  and  its 
rank. 

Bru&h-work. — The  value  of  skilled  work — The  pleasure  we  de- 
rive from  understanding  it — Brush-work  the  painter's  style — Its 
personal  quality — Smooth  vs.  rough  brush-work — Smooth  surfaces 
of  the  Florentines,  who  were  not  painters  but  draughtsmen — Leo- 
nardo, Raphael,  and  others — The  Venetians  the  painters — Titian 
the  first  great  master  of  the  brush — His  method  of  painting — 
Giorgione,  Palma,  Paolo  Veronese,  and  others — Flemish  painting 
with  Rubens — His  style  and  great  facility  of  hand — Rembrandt 
and  his  work — Velasquez,  his  method — The  little  Dutchmen,  Hals, 
Brouwer,  Steen — The  style  of  Steen's  brush-work  vs.  that  of 
Raphael  —  French  painters,  Watteau,  Boucher,  Chardin  —  The 
moderns,  Vollon,  Courljet,  Fortuny — Painting  in  landscape  of  the 
Fontainebleau-Barbizon  men,  Corot.  Rousseau,  Daubigny — Living 
brush-men  in  Spain,  Germany,  France — Brush-men  here  in  Amer- 
ica, Chase,  Sargent,  Blum,  and  others — The  maturity  of  painting — 
Its  "  over-ripeness  " — Extravagance  in  handling  at  present  aay — 
Painting  with  an  object  in  view — ConcluBion 214 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

»AGS 

I.  Millet,  The  Gleaners, 8 

n.  CoROT,  Landscape, 20 

in.  Pcvis  DE  Chavannes,  The  Bathers, 30 

IV.  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Mona  Lisa, 43 

V.  Remrrandt,  Landscape, ^0 

VI.  Correggio,  La  Notte, Mr 

VII.  Diaz,  Edge  of  the  Forest, T3 

VIII.  Raffaelli,  On  the  Seine, 80 

IX.  Raphael,  Transfiguration, 06 

X.  Fromentin,  Horses  at  Watering  Place,  .    .     .114 

XI.  Vase  and  Flowers,  Photograph  of  Color  Val- 
ues,   128 

XII.  DuEZ,  Portrait  in  Red, 136 

XIII.  Baton,  Reflection, 144 

XIV.  David,  The  Sabines, 160 

XV.  PiNTruKiccHio.  Portrait  of  a  Boy ItiS 

XVI.  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  Adoration  of  Kings  (Detail).  176 
XVII.  Detaille,  The  Dream, 184 


Xll  LIST   OP^   ILLUSTP.ATIONS 

PARE 

XVIII.  Tintoretto,  Makkiage  of  Akiadne  and  Bacchus.  193 

XIX.  Signorelli,  The  Curse  (Detail), 200 

XX.  Hobbema,  The  Water  Wheel, 208 

XXI.  Botticelli,  Madonna  and  Angels, 216 

XXII.  CoRREGGio,  Madonna  of  St.  Francis,    ....  224 

XXin.  Botticelli,  Calumny, 233 

XXIV.  Francia,  PiExi, 84C 


ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 


INTKODUCTORY 

Gentlemen  :  In  beginning  this  course  of  lectures 
on  art,  I  must  ask  that  you  assist  me  in  two  ways. 
First,  by  giving  me  your  attention.  In  a  course  of 
seven  lectures  it  will  be  quite  impossible  to  cover  in 
detail  the  ground  I  have  mapped  out,  and  much 
must  consequently  be  passed  by  with  a  mere  sug- 
gestion. It  will  require  j'our  attention  not  so  much 
to  grasp  what  I  may  sa,y,  as  to  grasp  what  may  be 
hinted  at  or  left  to  your  inference. 

Secondly,  though  it  is  not  considered  good  form 
to  apologize  beforehand,  I  must,  nevertheless,  ask 
your  indulgence  for  mistakes  that  I  may  make.  My 
subject  is  comparatively  new.  As  Lord  Bacon  has 
expressed  it,  I  am  to  attempt  to  speak  of  those  things 
"  whereof  a  man  shall  find  much  in  experience,  but 
little  in  books."  Some  of  my  theme  would  require 
half  a  lifetime  to  work  out ;  some  of  it  I  am  not 
able  to  work  out ;  and  some  of  it,  again,  from  its 
purely  speculative  nature,  never  will  be  positively 


S  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

worked  out.  The  most  of  what  has  been  written 
about  the  technic  of  painting  is  record  of  personal 
preference  or  the  upholding  of  certain  schools  or 
methods  ;  little  has  been  said  about  it  outside  of  the 
studios,  and  that  little  is  often  at  variance  with  the 
practice  of  the  painters.  Naturally  enough,  a  ground 
hedged  about  by  contradictory  opinions,  varying  ex- 
periences, and  an  occasional  metaphysical  pitfall  is 
not  one  that  a  person  would  choose  for  easy  travel- 
ling. While,  therefore,  you  may  profit  by  my  mis- 
steps, I  beg  that  you  will  grant  me  your  indulgence 
for  them. 

I  am  not  to  speak  to  you  of  the  history  of  art,  nor 
of  its  theory,  nor  its  philosophy,  except  incidentally. 
The  rise  of  the  schools  of  painting,  the  biographies 
of  the  great  painters,  the  nature  of  the  ideal,  the 
real,  and  the  beautiful,  you  will  find  in  books.  My 
subject  is,  in  one  sense,  of  a  humbler  nature.  It 
is  more  material,  more  technical,  and,  if  you  choose, 
more  practical.  I  shall  speak  of  painting  as  prac- 
tised by  the  painters  of  to-day  and  yesterday  ;  and, 
as  nearly  as  possible,  I  shall  attempt  to  treat  the 
subject  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  artist,  not  that 
of  the  metaphysician  nor  that  of  the  public.  It 
shall  be  my  endeavor  to  get  at  the  aim  of  the 
painter,  and  to  examine  art-products  in  the  light  of 
the  producer's  intention.  In  doing  this  the  drift  of 
these  lectures  should  be,  not  toward  teaching  one 


INTRODUCTORY  3 

how  to  paint  a  picture,  but  rather  toward  giving  one 
some  idea  of  how  to  appreciate  a  picture  after  it  has 
been  painted.  Such,  at  least,  is  their  object,  and 
with  this  object  in  view,  I  shall  endeavor  to  explain 
and  illustrate  such  pictorial  motives  as  color,  tone, 
atmosphere,  values,  perspective.  I  shall  call  your 
attention,  so  far  as  practicable,  to  certain  well-known 
pictures,  pointing  out  their  good  and  bad  qualities, 
and  making  my  remarks  apply  as  much  as  possible 
to  modern  art,  of  which  we  have,  perhaps,  too  poor 
an  opinion. 

As  introductory  to  this  course,  my  first  lecture 
vrill  treat  somewhat  of  the  very  different  views  of 
art  held,  respectively,  by  the  artist  and  the  public  ; 
and  for  our  practical  estimate  of  painting,  the  neces- 
sity of  dropping  aesthetic  theories  and  school-tradi- 
tions, and  taking  a  lesson  from  the  painter.  What 
the  painter's  view  is,  may  be  apparent  to  us  if  we 
strive  to  understand  one  of  the  meanings  of  thai 
phrase  in  the  art  vocabulary,  "  Art  for  Art's  Sake." 


i. 


LECTURE  I 

ART    FOR    ART'S    SAKE 

You  are  perhaps  aware  of  the  fact  that  there  is  a 
misunderstanding,  it  might  almost  be  called  a  quar- 
rel, existing  between  the  painter  and  his  public. 
The  cause  of  it  is  an  extremeness  of  view  on  the 
one  side,  and  a  misapprehension  of  purisose  on  the 
other  side,  with  not  a  little  intolerance  on  both 
sides.  It  is  through  such  causes  that  quarrels 
usually  arise. 

The  difference  would  seem  to  be  largely  about  the 
subjects  of  pictures  and  the  ideas  which  should  be 
embodied  in  them.  It  appears  that  the  painter 
wants  to  paint  one  thing,  and  the  "  average  per- 
son," who  may  personify  the  public,  wants  him  to 
paint  another  thing.  The  former,  knowing  the 
limits  of  his  art,  usually  chooses  to  picture  beauties 
of  color,  form,  tone,  atmosphere,  light  ;  the  latter, 
knowing  not  too  much  about  what  painting  can  or 
cannot  adequately  do,  desires  that  be  portray  the 
heroic  of  history  as  seen  in  the  Gracchi  or  the 
Horatii,  the  romantic  of   to-day  as  it   appears   in 


6  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

some  touching  love  drama,  or  perhaps  the  comic  of 
the  hour  as  exempUfied  in  the  funny  story.  In  his 
desire  to  possess  an  epitomized  novel  in  paint, 
which  may  save  the  trouble  of  reading  a  three- 
hundred  page  book,  the  "  average  person  "  fails  to 
appreciate  that  inherent  pictorial  beauty  which  of 
itself  is  the  primary  aim  of  all  painting.  The  pe- 
culiar sensuous  charms  of  color,  the  novelties  of 
natural  beauty,  the  feeling  of  the  artist  as  shown  in 
light  and  form  and  air  are  overlooked,  and  a  picture 
is  judged  largely  by  the  degree  of  skill  with  which 
it  reveals  a  literary  climax. 

This  popular  conception  of  art  degrades  it  by 
supposing  it  a  means  of  illustrating  literature ; 
while  the  artist's  conception,  extreme  perhaps  be- 
cause of  opposition,  oftentimes  underestimates  the 
value  of  ideas  by  giving  undue  importance  to  tech- 
nical skill.  As  a  natural  result  of  such  radical  dif- 
ference of  belief  there  is  an  antagonism  between  the 
differing  believers.  The  public  sneers  at  the  painter 
for  his  lack  of  ideas,  and  the  incensed  painter,  in 
trying  to  say  that  art  should  exist  for  its  own  sake, 
its  own  ideas,  and  be  judged  by  its  own  standards 
of  criticism,  often  lays  himself  open  to  ridicule  by 
extravagantly  saying  with  a  quoted  companion  in 
a  recent  number  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly :  "An  artist 
has  no  business  to  think  at  all." 

All  this  i-eminds  us  of  something  we  hav©  known 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  7 

before.  It  is  the  old  spectacle  of  the  controver- 
sial  tourney  -  com't  with  Quixotic  riders  dashing 
about  and  trying  to  spit  each  other  on  lances,  not 
because  of  any  deep  wrong  or  grievance  on  either 
side,  but  because  of  a  misunderstanding.  Richard 
of  Musgrave  stands  forth  declaring  that  art  should 
furnish  us  with  literary  ideas  and  stories  ;  and  Will- 
iam of  Deloraine,  in  trying  to  say  that  it  should  not 
treat  of  literary  matters,  asserts  that  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  ideas  of  any  kind.  It  must  be  evident 
that  one  of  them  is  in  the  wrong,  and,  from  past 
experiences  with  disputants,  it  is  safe  to  assume 
that  both  of  them  are  so.  Perhaps  this  may  be  de- 
monstrated by  examining  the  question,  "What  is 
meant  by  an  idea  in  art  ?  "  If  terms  were  defined 
and  positions  understood  at  the  start  there  would 
be  little  room  for  controversy. 

In  the  order  of  inquiry  it  would  be  well  to  con- 
sider, first,  the  ai'tist's  mental  equipment.  For  we 
wish  to  find  out  what  knowledge  is  of  the  most  value 
to  him,  and  hence,  the  kind  of  ideas  with  which  he 
is  most  familiar.  Generally  speaking  his  education 
has  not  made  h'm  a  statistician  of  phenomena  and 
actualities  or  he  would  be  a  scientist  ;  his  reason- 
ing powers  have  not  been  especially  developed  or  he 
would  be  a  philosopher ;  he  is  not  deeply  versed  in 
the  moral  or  sjiiiitual  affiiirs  of  the  world  or  he 
might  be  a  teacher  or  a  preacher  ;  he  has  uo  great 


8         •  ART   FOR  ART  S   SAKE 

fancy  for  telling  stories  or  writing  love  episodes  or 
he  might  be  a  novelist  or  a  maker  of  ballads.  As  a 
painter  he  has  one  sense  and  one  faculty,  both  of 
which,  by  the  necessities  of  his  calling,  are  perhaps 
abnormally  developed.  The  sense  is  that  of  sight, 
and  the  training  of  it  has  enabled  him  to  see  more 
beauties  and  deeper  meanings  in  nature  than  the 
great  majority  of  mankind.  The  faculty  lies  in  his 
ability  to  make  known,  to  reveal  to  mankind,  these 
discovered  beauties  and  imports  of  nature  by  the 
means  of  form,  color,  and  their  modifications.  The 
American  Indian  may  have  as  nebulous  ideas  of 
Dumas's  plots  and  counterplots  as  of  Edwards'  Free- 
dom of  the  Will,  or  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason, 
because  these  enter  not  into  the  needs  of  his  life ;  but 
he  has  the  keenest  of  eyes  for  the  sheen  on  a  deer's 
coat,  the  flutter  of  a  leaf,  the  bend  of  the  grass,  the 
overcast  gray  of  the  sky,  because  these  do  enter 
into  the  needs  of  his  life.  So  the  artist,  though  he 
may  not  fancy  the  comparison,  is  no  great  thinker 
on  abstract  themes  of  human  destiny,  nor  exponent 
of_saving  truths  of  life,  except  incidentally^  for  as  an 
artist  he  has  little  use  for  such  speculations.  But  he 
has  a  sense  for  beauty  in  form  and  color,  and  a  mind 
susceptible  of  receiving  and  revealing  the  most  deli- 
cate and  poetic  impressions  of  that  beauty.  He  is 
not  a  reasoner,  but  an  observer ;  not  a  narrator  of 
what  he  abstractly  tbinks,  but  a  presenter  of  what 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  9 

he  concretely  sees.  His  is  an  eye  that  notes  a  pe- 
culiar beauty  in  the  gray  mist  of  some  lowland 
meadow,  in  the  deep  wine-red  of  oak  leaves  in  No- 
vember, in  the  white  hot  sunlight  beating  into  an 
oriental  court,  in  the  light  and  shade  on  a  nude 
shoulder  or  a  gossamer  silk,  in  the  muscular 
strength  of  a  torso,  or  in  the  manly  dignity  of  a 
human  face.  "Thou  will  delight  in  drawing  the 
vertebrae  for  they  are  magnificent,"  says  Cellini, 
and  his  fellow-artists  heartily  agree  with  him.  The 
whole  world  is  but  a  unity  of  magnificent  vertebrae, 
modelled  with  exquisite  skill,  garmented  in  a  robe 
of  many  colors,  of  which  the  amethyst  of  the  hills, 
the  emerald  of  the  forests,  the  sapphire  of  the 
oceans  are  but  the  leading  hues,  and  canopied  with 
a  firmament  of  azure  embroidered  with  the  m^-riad 
broken  splendors  of  the  sun  itself.  Beauty  is  about 
us  on  all  sides  ;  not  more  in  nature's  mantle  of  joy- 
ous color  than  in  her  gray  garment  of  sorrow,  not 
more  in  sunlight  than  in  shadow,  not  more  in  the 
majestic  harmony  of  sea  or  mountain  than  in  the 
warm  monotone  of  low-lying  sand-dunes,  or  the  sad 
humility  of  outstretched  marshes.  But  alas  !  for 
our  untrained  eyes  and  minds  we  do  not  perceive 
this  beauty,  we  do  not  feel  it,  we  do  not  know  it. 
And  tlie  very  fact  that  we  are  incapable  of  seeing  it 
gives  one  very  good  reason  for  the  artist's  existence. 
He  is  the  man  whose  education  and  natural  bent  of 


10  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

mind  have  made  him  a  seer,  and,  if  he  have  any 
part  to  play  in  the  human  comedy,  it  is  primarily 
that  of  a  discoverer  and  revealer  of  these  hidden 
beauties  of  nature  and  life.  Therein  lies  his  pecu- 
liar mental  equipment,  and,  because  he  is  best  qual- 
ified to  reveal  such  beauties  as  these,  is  good  argu- 
ment why  his  art  should  be  largely  confined  to  ideas 
concerning  them.  Why  the  artist  is  so  limited,  why 
he  is  little  more  than  an  observei-,  or  at  the  best  a 
thinker  about  what  he  sees,  may  be  further  discov- 
ered if  we  examine  his  material  equipment,  or  the 
means  wherewith  he  may  make  manifest  his  impres- 
sions or  thoughts  about  nature.  And  this  brings  us 
to  the  consideration  of  the  limits  of  painting. 

You  know  that  all  ideas  of  whatever  nature  are 
brought  to  us  through  the  means  of  the  five  senses. 
Three  of  these  senses  —  those  of  smell,  taste,  and 
touch — it  will  be  readily  comprehended  have  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  our  appreciation  of  paint- 
ing, and  may  therefore  be  put  aside  at  once.  The 
senses  of  hearing  and  of  sight  remain.  That  por- 
tion of  the  public  which  calls  for  literary  ideas  in  art 
somehow  imagines  it  can  hear  a  picture — or  at  the 
least  hear  what  some  of  the  characters  in  it  are  say- 
ing— and  it  is  through  this  very  confusion  of  what 
should  be  told  to  the  ear  and  what  should  be  told 
to  the  eye  that  the  misunderstanding  between  the 
artist  and  his  public  has  arisen. 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  H 

There  is  but  one  sense  to  which  a  painting  may 
appeal,  namely,  the  sense  of  sight.  The  broad 
division  of  the  arts  made  by  Lessing  in  his  Lao- 
coon  is  quite  correct.  Those  ideas  which  primar- 
ily need  form  and  color  to  describe  them  should 
be  shown  in  architecture,  sculpture,  or  painting ; 
and  those  which  need  sound  or  time  -  movement 
should  be  shown  in  poetry,  oratory,  or  music.  It 
may  be  well  to  emphasize  the  statement  that  sculpt- 
ure and  painting  not  only  depend  upon  form  or 
color,  but  that,  inferentially,  they  can  give  no  idea 
of  time.  By  this  is  meant  that  these  arts  must 
seize  upon  the  present  moment  and  cannot  ade- 
quately show  anything  that  has  to  do  with  succes- 
sion of  events  or  duration.  The  past  and  the  future 
are  as  blank  to  them  as  the  unknown  or  the  unseen. 
This  may  be  practically  illustrated  from  a  picture 
by  Cabanel  in  the  Luxembourg  called  "Tamar." 
It  represents  a  beautiful  girl  lying  in  a  faint  across 
the  lap  of  an  indignant-looking,  dark-skinned  chief, 
who  is  shaking  a  clenched  hand  at  an  imaginary 
person  outside  of  the  picture-frame.  From  the  can- 
vas alone  one  could  make  nothing  of  the  story  which 
the  painter  thought  to  tell,  for  the  reason  that  the 
story  requires  duration  and  changes  of  scene  which 
the  picture  is  unable  to  make.  Told  in  literature  it 
seems  that  this  girl,  Tamar,  has  been  badly  treated 
by  Amnon.  that  she  goes  to  her  brother  Absalom  for 


12  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

redress,  and  that  he  swears  vengeance.  Here  are 
three  distinct  scenes  or  acts.  The  poem  or  the 
novel  can  tell  them  all,  one  after  another,  but  the 
painting  can  portray  only  one  of  them,  leaving  the 
other  two  to  be  supplied  by  the  spectator's  imagina- 
tion— a  quite  impossible  performance.  Words  may 
move  in  time  and  produce  successive  pictures  to  the 
mind  until  the  whole  tale  is  brought  home  to  us  ; 
but  a  form  drawu  with  the  pencil  cannot  shift,  a 
color  put  on  with  the  brush  cannot  change.  The 
picture  presents  us  with  only  one  idea.  We  know 
the  girl  is  in  anguish  of  mind  from  her  position  and 
pallor,  we  know  the  chief  is  angry  from  his  scowling 
front  and  flashing  eye ;  but  who  they  are,  and  what 
the  cause  of  these  attitudes  and  gestures,  we  are  at 
loss  to  conjecture.  Left  entirely  to  our  imagination 
we  might  think  it  was  an  Othello  and  Desdemona, 
an  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  or  almost  any  other  pair 
of  ill-fated  lovers. 

Suppose,  again,  a  painter  should  choose  to  paint 
the  scene  from  Robert  Elsmere  where  Robert  an- 
nounces to  his  wife  his  determination  to  abandon 
his  parish  living,  to  give  up  his  church.  He  might 
portray  Catherine  with  a  blanched  face,  and  Robert 
with  an  agonized  brow,  but  he  could  not  tell  us  the 
preceding  months  of  struggle  and  anguish  which 
would  be  necessary  to  explain  the  scene.  Time 
again  is  an  element  here,  and  successive  changes — • 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  13 

movement  —  are  required.  The  one  scene  alone 
without  a  title  would  represent  Caudle  and  his  wife 
during  a  curtain  lecture  quite  as  truly  as  Elsmere 
and  his  wife  suddenly  wrenched  apai't  by  a  differ- 
ence in  religious  belief.  It  will  readily  be  compre- 
hended, then,  that  in  telling  a  story  the  painting  is 
not  always  a  success  because  it  cannot  express  time. 
It  must  picture  the  present  moment,  and,  moreover, 
it  shordd  picture  that  which  can  be  understood  by 
the  unaided  eye. 

The  sad  jumbling  of  figment  and  pigment,  the 
telling  to  the  eye  with  a  paint-brush  of  half  a  story, 
and  to  the  ear  in  the  title  or  catalogue  of  the  other 
half,  is  quite  unnecessary.  There  is  something  rad- 
ically wrong  with  those  pictures,  other  than  histori- 
cal works,  which  require  a  titular  explanation.  For 
if  they  be  pictorial,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word, 
they  will  reveal  themselves  without  comment  or 
suggestion.  The  "  Taj^estry  Weavers  "  of  Velasquez, 
the  "  Sleeping  Venus  "  of  Giorgione,  the  cavaliers 
of  Terburg,  the  interiors  of  Pieter  de  Hooghe  and 
Jan  van  der  Meer  of  Delft,  what  need  have  they  for 
title  or  catalogue  explanation  ?  No  more  than  the 
so-called  "Venus  of  Melos,"  which  is  perhaps  not 
a  Venus  ;  no  more  than  a  Watteau  fete  scene  which 
may  tell  any  story  or  no  story  ;  no  more  than  IMo- 
roui's  "Tailor,"  of  which  history  gives  us  neither 
explanation  nor  conjecture.     These   works   explain 


14  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

themselves  in  line  and  color  ;  the  eye  comprehends 
their  entire  meaning  by  one  name  as  readily  as  by 
another.  They  have  nothing  to  say  to  our  ear,  need- 
ing neither  preface  nor  apology.  This  is  equally 
true  of  Millet's  fine  picture  of  "  The  Gleaners  "  (Fig. 
1).  Some  women  bending  and  gathering  stray 
grain-stalks,  a  sense  of  motion  and  life  about  them, 
a  coloring,  a  light,  and  an  air  suitable  to  a  warm  af- 
ternoon in  the  fields,  a  sentiment  suggestive  of  the 
elemental,  the  toiling  nature  of  the  peasant  life,  and 
that  is  all.  But  on  the  contrary,  if  we  examine  an- 
other celebrated  picture  by  the  same  artist,  perhaps 
the  best  known  of  all  his  works,  "The  Angelus," 
we  shall  find  a  literary  interest  crowded  into  the 
canvas  to  the  detriment  certainly  of  pictorial  effect. 
The  sound  of  the  bells  of  the  Angelus  coming  on 
the  evening  air  from  the  distant  church-spire  may 
be  heard  in  literature,  but  it  cannot  be  seen  in  a 
picture.  We  must  go  to  the  catalogue  to  find  the 
meaning  of  those  two  peasants  standing  with  bowed 
heads  in  a  potato-field.  Suppose  "The  Angelus" 
without  a  title  two  thousand  years  hence,  with  the 
ringing  of  church-bells  abandoned  and  forgotten 
fifteen  hundred  years  before,  would  people  compre- 
hend or  appreciate  the  picture  as  we  now  do  a  Par- 
thenon marble  ?  I  think  not ;  for  it  does  not  wholly 
rely  for  interest  upon  pictorial  qualities,  but  leans 
very  heavily  on  our  exterior  knowledge  of  bell-ring- 


AET   FOR   art's   SAKE  15 

ing  at  sunset  in  France.  The  sentiment  of  the  picture 
is  charming,  pathetic,  beautiful ;  but  it  should  have 
been  written  in  poetry,  not  painted  on  canvas.  For 
the  eye  sees  color,  light,  air,  perspective,  and  knows 
a  pleasurable  sensation  in  them,  but  it  fails  to  grasp 
sound. 

The  same  objection  may  be  made  to  a  picture  by 
Poussin  that  M.  Charles  Blanc  has  spoken  of  as  a 
masterpiece  of  sublimity.  In  the  central  foreground 
of  a  fine  classic  landscape  is  a  group  of  sad-faced 
shepherds  moralizing  over  a  square  tomb  of  marble. 
One  of  the  shepherds  kneels  and  traces  with  his  fin- 
ger the  lettering  on  the  stone  :  "  Et  in  Arcadia  Ego." 
If  one  happens  to  be  a  Latin  scholar  it  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  discover  why  the  shepherds  are  sad.  The 
voice  from  the  tomb  speaks  :  "  I  too  lived  in  Arcadia, 
I  lived  and  loved  and  was  happy  as  you  are  now, 
but  alas  !  death  came  and  my  dust  rests  here."  The 
sentiment  is  quite  fine.  So  fine  that  it  is  to  be  re- 
gretted the  pleasure  of  understanding  it  is  confined 
to  those  who  know  enough  Latin  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tion. Had  the  writing  been  true  to  history  and  Ai*- 
cadia  it  would  have  been  in  Greek  instead  of  in  Latin, 
and  then  the  group  of  admirers  W'Ould  have  been 
still  more  limited.  It  may  be  well  questioned  if  the 
sentiment  of  a  painting  should  hang  upon  a  written 
inscription  and  be  for  classic  scholars  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  others ;  and  it  may  be  further  questioned, 


16  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

Was  it  worth  while  for  Poussin  to  sacrifice  the  effect 
of  his  landscape  composition,  his  painting  of  foliage, 
sky,  air,  his  drawing  and  modelling  of  form,  to  so 
literatesque  an  incident  as  a  voice  from  the  tomb  ? 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  has  said,  with  his  usual  cau- 
tion :  "  I  fear  we  have  very  scanty  means  of  exciting 
those  powers  over  the  imagination  which  make  so 
very  considerable  and  refined  a  part  of  poetry.  It 
is  a  doubt  with  me  whether  we  should  even  make 
the  attempt."  He  might  have  added  that  the 
attempt  to  excite  the  powers  of  the  literary  imagi- 
nation is  not  only  a  failure  because  of  the  inadequate 
capabilities  of  painting,  but  that  it  makes  all  pic- 
torial qualities  in  the  picture  a  partial  failure  also 
becaiise  of  their  subordination  to  the  literary  idea. 
If  an  artist  wish  us  to  hear,  let  him  use  poetry, 
oratory,  or  music  ;  if  he  wish  us  to  see,  let  him  em- 
ploy painting,  sculpture,  or  architecture.  The  two 
cannot  serve  double  purposes  with  any  degree  of 
satisfaction  except  perhaps  in  the  case  of  historical 
pictures,  which  are  designedly  more  illustrative  than 
creative. 

It  seems  then  that  the  painter's  ideas  are  lim- 
ited to  such  subjects  as  may  be  comprehended 
by  the  unaided  eye  independent  of  time -move- 
ment, and  that  his  language  is  limited  to  such  sym- 
bols of  ideas  as  form,  color,  light,  shade,  air,  and 
their  kind.     When,  therefore,  people  call  for  ideas 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  17 

in  painting  —  meaning  thereby  literary,  anecdotal, 
moral,  or  religious  ideas — and  overlook  with  scorn 
the  pictorial  motives  of  the  artists,  they  are  simply 
asking  that  painting  shall  abandon  its  now  proper 
purpose.  On  the  other  hand,  those  persons  who 
maintain  that  "  An  artist  has  no  business  to  think 
at  all,"  or  that  painting  should  be  devoid  of  ideas, 
are  equally  in  error  on  the  other  side.  The  con- 
servative answer  to  the  question,  "What  is  meant 
by  an  idea  in  art  ?  "  is,  first,  a  pictorial  idea — an  idea 
conforming  to  the  limits  of  painting.  Whether  an 
idea  is  pictorial  or  not  may  be  tested  in  the  first 
place  by  questioning  if  it  will  exist  of  itself  and 
without  a  title.  If  we  apply  this  test  to  the  great 
pictures  of  the  Florentines  and  the  Venetians,  they 
will  bear  it  without  flinching.  Does  it  affect  the 
beauty  of  their  pictures  if  their  women  be  called  by 
the  name  of  Madonna,  Venus,  Mona  Lisa,  or  Forna- 
rina  ?  Does  it  spoil  the  story,  or  jjlay  sad  havoc 
with  the  plot,  if  their  men  be  known  as  Apollo, 
8t.  George,  the  Man  with  the  Glove,  or  Jacopo  the 
Gondolier  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  pictures  live  to- 
day not  by  virtue  of  name  or  story,  but  by  virtue 
of  their  modelling,  coloring,  light,  character,  force, 
power — all  of  them  pictorial  motives.  Titian's  so- 
called  "Sacred  and  Profane  Love"  has  been  well 
instanced  as  an  example  of  art  existing  for  its  own 
sake.  No  one  knows  what  the  picture  should  be 
2 


18  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

called,  or  why  the  two  figures,  oue  on  either  side 
of  the  marble  fountain,  have  such  diliereut  expres- 
sions ;  no  one  needs  to  know  in  order  to  enjoy  the 
picture's  beauty  ;  no  one  cares  to  know,  except  per- 
haps the  historian  of  art,  seeking  facts  instead  of 
aesthetic  pleasure.  This  is  equally  true  of  the 
Dutchmen.  Brouwer's  topers,  Hals's  smiling  mu- 
sicians, Steen's  fete  scenes,  Wyuant's  landscapes  by 
any  other  name,  or  no  name,  would  be  quite  as 
beautiful.  Here  in  America  is  Rembrandt's  picture 
called,  for  purposes  of  identification,  "  The  Gilder  ;  " 
does  it  affect  our  enjoyment  of  it  that  we  do  not 
know  who  was  the  sitter?  Who  ever  thought  of 
asking  what  a  Tiepolo  group  is  doing,  or  whether 
Fortuny's  "  Serpent  Charmer  "  influenced  the  snake 
with  his  stick  or  with  his  voice?  The  canvases  are 
pieces  of  color,  light,  air,  painted  brilliantly,  sym- 
pathetically, artistically,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to 
them.  Their  painters  never  intended  them  to  be 
anything  else. 

A  painter's  idea,  then,  should  be  pictorial,  bvit 
there  is  still  a  further  condition  imposed  upon  it. 
A  mathematical  problem  on  the  black-board  may  in 
one  sense  be  pictorial ;  that  is,  it  may  be  compre- 
hended by  the  unaided  eye,  but  it  would  hardly  do 
to  put  on  canvas  as  a  picture.  Why  ?  Because  it 
appeals  to  the  intelligence  only,  it  does  not  in  any 
way  stimulate  the  emotions.     In  other  words,  it  is 


AKT    FOR   ART  S    SAKE  19 

not  of  the  realm  of  beauty.  A  pictorial  idea  should 
be  a  beautiful  idea,  but  you  must  not  misunder- 
stand my  use  of  the  word  "beauty."  I  do  not  mean 
merely  the  straight  nose,  the  rounded  arm,  the  per- 
fect proportion  which  Winckelmann  thought  to  be 
at  once  the  body  and  the  spirit  of  Greek  art.  Nor 
do  I  mean  that  quality  plumed  with  iridescent  wings 
or  circumscribed  by  various  definitions  which  we 
find  in  treatises  on  testhetics.  As  usually  defined 
by  metaphysicians,  "beauty"  is  not  sufiicient  to 
account  for  the  pleasure  we  feel  in  the  presence  of 
fine  art.  The  word  is  capable  of  a  broader  meaning. 
For  beauty  may  be  in  all  things,  in  the  mind  that 
thinks,  in  the  hand  that  paints,  in  the  nature  that  is 
painted.  It  is  as  much  in  the  personality  of  the 
painter  as  in  the  universality  of  the  outer  world.  It 
does  not  lie  in  the  refined  alone,  but  in  the  true,  the 
characteristic,  the  forceful — 3'es,  even  in  the  singular, 
the  abnormal,  and  the  ugly,  provided  they  are  not 
repulsive  or  disgusting.  Something  there  must  be, 
either  in  the  work  or  the  worker,  that  strikes  home 
to  our  emotional  and  sympathetic  nature,  else  thex-e 
is  no  true  art. 

A  painter  may  make  a  pictorial  presentation  of 
a  cartman  beating  his  horse  (such  was  the  sub- 
ject of  a  recent  Salon  picture),  or  a  group  of  mon- 
keys dressed  in  men's  clothing  holding  a  court  of 
divorce,  and  these  themes  may  interest  or  amuse 


20  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

US  temporarily,  but  they  do  not  in  any  way  rouse 
our  emotions  with  the  feeling  of  beauty.  Such  pict- 
ures may  possess  a  beauty  of  color  or  form,  and 
they  may  live  and  be  considered  art  for  that  reason, 
but  certainly  not  by  virtue  of  the  beauty  in  their 
subjects.  Oftentimes  artistic  execution,  color,  light, 
air,  save  an  otherwise  commonplace  or  repulsive 
theme ;  but  that  is  no  argument  for  the  repulsive 
theme,  often  as  painters  seek  to  make  it.  It  is  color, 
light,  and  masterly  handling  of  the  brush  that  re- 
deem Regnault's  "Execution  without  Judgment," 
Fortuny's  "Butcher,"  and  Rembrandt's  "Dressed 
Beef."  The  subjects  or  the  ideas  they  convey  are 
hardly  beautiful  in  themselves,  but  are  made  so  by 
superior  artistic  treatment,  just  as  many  a  weed  loses 
its  natural  bitterness  under  a  salad  dressing.  Yet 
people  rather  like  the  Regnault  "  Execution  "  scene, 
not  because  of  its  color  and  handling,  but  because  it 
hints  at  a  ghastly  story,  and  they  like  the  humanized 
monkeys,  not  because  of  any  pictorial  quality,  but 
because  they  are  funny.  A  jest  is  easily  grasped, 
but  a  new  beauty,  a  sentiment,  a  state  of  feeling,  is 
rather  staggering,  especially  if  the  subject  be  of  a 
humble  or  commonplace  character.  Should  an  artist 
choose  to  paint  a  weather-stained  barn  with  open 
double  doors  and  low-hanging  eaves,  he  might  show 
a  beauty  of  sunlight  in  contrast  with  the  deep 
warmth  of  the  interior  shadows  ;  he  might  show  that 


ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE  21 

suuligbt  clianging  an  edging  of  straw  into  bright 
gold,  transforming  a  whitewashed  beam  into  a  cen- 
tre of  light,  or  turning  a  horse's  coat  into  a  mirror 
of  silken  sheen  ;  he  might  flood  the  interior  with 
atmosphere  and  color  it  with  luminous  hues,  pitch 
it  with  truest  values,  tone  it  in  perfect  accord,  but 
it  is  not  likely  that  the  "  average  person  "  would  see 
these  beauties.  He  is  looking  for  something  else. 
He  wishes  an  art  of  ideas,  as  though  these  revela- 
tions of  color,  light,  shade,  air  were  not  of  tliem- 
selves  ideas  worthy  of  his  consideration.  But  he 
wishes  another  kind  of  idea,  and  so,  for  the  purpose 
of  again  illustrating  the  anecdotal  side  of  popular 
art,  let  us  put  in  the  picture  what  is  desired,  and  we 
shall  then  have  Mount's  well-known  picture  called 
"The  Barn." 

Suppose,  then,  that  on  the  floor  of  the  barn,  near 
the  double  doors,  is  seated  a  group  of  truant  boys 
playing  the  forbidden  game  of  cards,  and  having  the 
bad  boy's  good  time  ;  suppose  that  along  the  side 
of  the  barn,  unobserved  by  the  boys,  comes  the 
sturdy  farmer,  with  indignation  written  upon  his 
face  and  a  birch  in  his  hand.  Now  we  have  a  story 
in  it,  and  the  "  average  person  "  is  well  pleased. 
The  idea  is  (juite  apparent.  The  boys  are  certainly 
in  for  a  flogging.  But  let  us  put  the  story  part  of 
the  picture  upon  the  rack  and  test  it  by  those  re- 
quisites of  a  painting  which  we  have  thus  far  ad- 


22  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

vanced.  Is  it  pictorial  ?  Yes  ;  it  may  be  said  to  fil\ 
fairly  well  that  first  coudition  because  there  is  little 
or  no  time-movement  to  the  incident,  though  the 
subject  is  hardly  serious  enough  for  painting,  and 
would  be  better  shown  by  black  and  white  illustra- 
tion in  some  comic  weekly.  There  is  a  place  for  art 
of  a  literary  nature,  but  it  is  not  on  canvas  ;  it  is  on 
the  pages  of  books  and  magazines.  There  it  holds 
proper  position,  not  as  purely  pictorial  creation,  but 
as  illustration  —  sight  help  —  to  the  running  text. 
No  one  would  deny  for  a  moment  the  raiaon  d'etre 
or  the  usefulness  of  this  form  of  art,  but  it  should 
not  show  itself  in  oils,  any  more  than  miniature 
work  should  appear  in  ceiling  fresco.  But  let  us 
return  to  the  analysis  of  the  barn  picture  and  test 
its  story  by  the  second  condition  of  painting.  Is 
there  anything  beautiful  in  the  prospect  of  boys  get- 
ting a  flogging  ?  Does  the  story  appeal  in  any  way 
to  the  emotions  usually  excited  by  the  presence  of 
beauty  ?  Not  at  all  ;  it  is  an  incident  that  stimu- 
lates our  momentary  curiosity,  like  that  of  the  cart- 
man  beating  his  horse,  but  we  cannot  say  that  we 
are  benefited,  charmed,  or  emotionally  pleased  by 
the  representation  of  either  scene.  The  storj'  in  the 
picture  has  no  place  there  :  first,  because  it  is  not 
beautiful  ;  secondly,  because  it  has  a  distracting  in- 
terest which  draws  our  attention  away  from  those 
suggestive  features  of  sunlight,  shadow,  color,  and 


ART  FOR  art's   SAKE  23 

atmosphere  which  are  beautiful  and  which  should 
attract  the  chief  notice  of  the  observer. 

Just  here  I  fancy  you  are  beginning  to  wonder  if 
all  art  ideas  are  to  be  made  up  from  bai'ns,  hay- 
stacks, horses  coats,  tones,  colors,  and  values.  No, 
not  all  of  them  ;  but  why  not  some  of  them  ?  If 
the  painter  sees  new  beauties  in  such  objects — 
beauties  that  we  do  not  see — and  can  make  them 
apparent  to  us  on  canvas,  why  should  he  not  do  so  ? 
Why  should  we  not  regard  his  work  in  the  hght  of 
its  intention,  crediting  it  with  what  success  it  may 
possess  ?  Why  should  we  cast  it  aside  because  it  is 
not  an  ideal  Madonna,  or  a  sublime  piece  of  classi- 
cal allegory  ?  We  can  take  pleasure  in  a  china  plate 
and  never  tliink  of  dashing  it  to  the  floor  because  it 
is  not  a  Sevres  vase  ;  and  we  can  enjoy  lyric  poetry 
without  lugging  in  a  thought  of  the  epic  produc- 
tions of  Dante  and  Ariosto.  Why  should  we  not 
enjoy  the  slighter  quality  of  painting  in  the  same 
manner? 

I  am  aware  that  all  this  sounds  to  you  like  mod- 
ern heres}'.  Perhaps  it  sounds  so  because  through 
the  mother  country,  England,  we  have  been  educated 
more  in  literature  than  in  art,  and  because  we  con- 
ceive ideas  by  words  more  than  by  pictorial  forms. 
Moreover,  we  have  been  taught  by  history  and  the- 
ory that  the  aim  of  art  is  the  grand  ideal,  that  it  has 
to  do  with  great  moral  truths,  that  it  is  a  teacher  of 


24  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

men,  and  should  deal  with  lofty  themes  of  human 
interest.  Such,  indeed,  was  once  the  aim  of  art, 
but  I  would  have  you  discriminate  between  what 
was  and  what  is ;  I  would  have  you  avoid  the  ap- 
plication of  old  standards  to  new  work.  Nothing 
enduringly  lasts  to  us.  Civilization  moves  on  ;  it 
never  turns  back.  History  may  multiply  analogies ;  it 
does  not  repeat  likenesses.  Philosophies,  laws,  arts, 
sciences,  even  religions  change.  Art,  in  Greece,  in 
perfect  accord  with  the  Greek  civilization,  aimed  at 
the  ideal,  and  in  that  same  age  there  was  a  religion 
of  the  gods  and  the  demi-gods,  a  morality  which,  to 
say  the  least,  our  modern  teachers  of  moral  science 
would  not  approve  of,  and  a  code  of  laws  which,  if 
in  force  among  us  to-day,  would  cause  a  revolution 
to-morrow.  For  our  practical  use  their  religion, 
ethics,  and  laws  have  disappeared.  We  have  substi- 
tuted others  more  conformable  to  our  needs.  Why 
should  we  so  persistently  cling  to  their  obsolete  and 
(now)  inappropriate  art-ideal  ?  Greek  life  was  ideal, 
the  absorption  of  the  many  into  one,  unity  in  art- 
craft  and  state-craft ;  modern  life  is  individual,  in- 
dependent, self-reliant,  self-assertive.  Where  the 
Greek  sculptor  modelled  the  ideal,  the  contempo- 
rary French  sculptor  models  the  individual.  I  do  not 
say  which  is  the  better  or  the  nobler  aim,  nor  what 
should  be  our  civilization  and  art ;  I  state  simply 
what  exists.     So  again  in   painting,  we  should  not 


ART   FOR   art's   SAKE  25 

judge  modern  art  by  that  of  tlie  Early  Renaissance 
period  for  its  aim  is  totally  difierent.  Italian  paint- 
ing started  as  an  engine  of  the  Church  and  was  a 
means  of  illustrating  and  teaching  the  Bible  to 
those  who  could  not  read,  and  a  decoration  of 
church  walls  and  altars  ;  but  are  there  any  such 
necessities  to-day  ?  Is  painting  an  engine  of  any 
creed,  sect,  or  moving  power  ?  Is  it  a  decorator  of 
churches  ?  Is  it  anything  but  a  means  of  sympa- 
thetic and  emotional  expression  given  to  the  indi- 
vidual man  ? 

Perhaps  this  change  in  art-motive  can  be  illus- 
trated by  taking,  for  example,  that  essentially  mod- 
ern product,  'the  landscape.  In  its  early  days  Claude 
and  Poussin  regarded  it  as  an  Arcadian  setting 
within  which  could  be  placed  Ionic  and  Corinthian 
temples,  Roman  aqueducts,  peopled  harbors,  legions 
of  soldiers,  groups  of  nymphs,  classic  shepherds, 
and  mythological  gods.  The  whole  conception  was 
classic,  eclectic,  ideal ;  grandeur  of  composition  and 
beauty  of  line  were  predominant,  and  the  object  of 
it  all  was  to  show  the  ideal  dwelling-place  of  the 
gods — the  new  Garden  of  the  Hesperides.  With  Ro- 
manticism in  the  early  part  of  this  century  the  con- 
ception changed,  and  landscape  became  beautiful  by 
reason  of  its  association  with  mediiicval  or  modern 
heroes  and  their  deeds.  The  sea  stretched  out  upon 
canvas,  not  for  its  grandeur  of  power,  its  wealth  of 


26  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

shifting  colors  ;  but  as  the  element  upon  which,  be- 
tween wave  and  sky,  tossed  the  raft  of  the  Medusa,  or 
the  boat  containing  Don  Juan  and  his  shipwrecked 
companions  drifted  on  its  hopeless  way.  The  forest 
was  not  painted  so  much  for  its  beautiful  masses  of 
varying  greens,  reds,  and  yellows,  shotteu  with  sun 
and  with  shadow,  as  it  was  for  the  refuge  of  Attila, 
Robin  Hood,  and  Carl  von  Moor.  The  rising  knoll 
of  ground,  with  its  sweeping  lines  of  beauty,  was 
but  the  resting-place  of  the  castle  where  mediaeval 
knights  revelled  and  drank  deep,  or  Manfred  lived 
and  died  in  solitary  remorse.  The  desert  existed 
not  so  much  for  its  white  light,  rising  heat,  and 
waving  atmosphere,  as  for  the  home  of  the  roaming- 
lion,  or  the  treacherous  highway  of  the  winding 
Bedouin  caravan. 

In  both  the  classic  and  the  romantic  landscape 
the  painter  took  his  theme  from  the  historian,  the 
poet,  or  the  romancer ;  but  the  modern  landscap- 
ist  has  forsaken  both  of  these  conceptions.  He 
has  come  to  discard  associations,  and  to  point  out 
to  us  that  there  is  a  beauty  in  the  forms  and 
colors  and  lights  of  nature  aside  from  man  or  his 
doings.  The  pale  light  that  glows  along  the  eastern 
hills  at  daybreak  ;  the  splendors  of  the  sun  as  it 
sinks  in  the  west  ;  the  trooping  along  the  sky  of 
gray  rain-clouds  ;  the  masses  of  deep-colored  foliage  ; 
the  mists  that  Hoat  alonj?  the  mai'shes  ;  the  sheen 


AET   FOR   art's   SAKE  27 

on  the  surface  of  a  woodland  pool ;  even  the  wLite 
light  on  the  bark  of  the  birch,  are  all  beauties  to 
him.  The  mighty  stretch  of  land  that  Claude  and 
Poussin  fancied,  with  its  representation  of  lofty 
mountains,  beetling  precipices,  and  far-away  valleys 
has  been  abandoned.  In  its  place  the  modern  land- 
scape painter  chooses  some  quiet  country  lane,  a 
marsh,  a  patch  of  some  field,  or  a  corner  of  some 
garden.  For  the  representation  of  nature  upon 
canvas  is  not  to  be  judged  by  its  extent  but  by 
its  essence.  There  is  a  delicate  meaning  in  the 
humblest  things  about  us.  The  meanest  flower  that 
blows  may  contain  it.  Bonvin  saw  it  in  the  thistle 
and  the  bramble  ;  the  Japanese  reveal  it  in  the  stalk 
of  a  reed,  or  in  the  color  of  a  bird's  wing.  And  to 
portray  by  means  of  emi:)hasized  form  and  color 
this  essence  of  nature,  to  discover  and  interpret  to 
us  this  delicate  meaning,  to  make  us  see  what  the 
artist  sees,  and  feel  what  he  feels — to  do  this  is  one 
of  the  aims,  perhaps  the  principal  aim,  of  modern 
landscape  painting. 

The  painting  of  to-day,  you  will  thus  observe,  like 
the  poetry,  shows  deep  love  for  nature  per  se,  inde- 
pendent of  human  association  ;  and  whatsoever  sub- 
ject the  artist  may  choose,  be  it  landscape,  genre, 
still-life,  or  figure-} )iece,  if  he  be  a  true  artist,  he 
will  prove  himself  the  one  to  whom  natuie  reveals 
her  ruK  r    plja.ses.     Ft)r,    as  Mr.   Whistler  has  said. 


28  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

"  He  is  her  son  and  her  master,  her  son  in  that  he 
loves  her,  her  master  in  that  he  knows  her."  Her 
lover  ever,  he  sees  beauty  in  her  countless  forms  and 
faces,  in  her  myriad  hues  and  colors,  in  her  shifting 
moods  and  aspects,  in  her  fraction  of  a  part,  in  her 
unit  of  a  whole.  For  him  the  heap  of  straw  upon 
the  barn-floor  turns  to  gold  in  the  sunlight,  the 
china  plate  becomes  luminous  with  light  as  the 
white  sun  seen  through  a  mist,  the  rose  is  a  wonder- 
harmony  of  the  most  delicately  blended  hues,  the 
Sevres  vase  is  a  round,  opalescent  mirror,  receiving 
and  refracting  a  thousand  tints  and  shades.  For 
him  fruit  and  silks  and  skies  glow  with  color  ;  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  twilight  produce  different  atmos- 
pheres ;  mountains,  buildings,  human  beings,  flow  in 
graceful  lines ;  the  sunlight  falls  like  Danae's  golden 
shower  ;  the  moonlight  sleeps  in  silver  across  the 
land  and  sea.  In  nature — nature  alone — he  seeks 
his  inspiration,  and  in  studying  her  many  works  he 
discovers  new  and  unknown  features.  Perhaps  he 
sees  a  beauty  in  the  falling  rain,  travelling  over  hill 
and  valley  ;  in  the  wind,  sweeping  the  foam  on  the 
crest  of  a  breaker  ;  in  the  grayish-white  effect  of  the 
dew  on  the  grass  in  the  early  morning  ;  in  the  sud- 
den rush  of  light  up  the  heavens  that  comes  with 
the  rising  moon  ;  in  the  burst  of  a  sun-shaft  through 
storm-clouds.  If  he  does,  why  should  he  not  paint 
it?     To  be  sure  such  subjects  and  such  ideas  are 


ART   FOR  art's   SAKE  29 

not  the  greatest  imaginable,  but  when  artistically 
handled  they  should  have  more  than  a  bric-a-brac 
interest  for  us.  To  have  known  genius  is  no  good 
reason  for  despising  simple  talent ;  nor  is  it  worth 
while  to  discard  one  art  because  we  happen  to  have 
been  educated  on  another  art.  If  we  look  at  this 
modern  art  from  a  modern  point  of  view  and  place 
ourselves  en  rapport  with  our  time,  we  shall  find  it 
worthy  of  consideration.  And  it  has  not  yet  been 
concluded  that  these  subjects  form  the  outermost 
rim  of  the  painter's  ideas. 

The  portrayal  of  such  beauties  of  nature  as  may 
be  found  in  weather-stained  bams,  vases,  china 
plates,  cloud-effects,  and  atmospheres  make  up  one 
kind  of  art — perhaps  the  art  most  frequently  met 
with — but  it  has  not  been  said  nor  intimated  that 
there  was  no  other  kind.  There  is  something  more 
than  I  have  described,  something  more  of  idea, 
but  not  of  the  kind  for  which  the  "average  per- 
son "  sighs.  The  only  limit  thus  far  imposed  upon 
painting  is  that  its  conceptions  shall  be  pictorial- 
ly  beautiful.  Within  that  boundary  the  range  is 
wide  enough  for  any  genius,  however  great.  The 
artist  may  paint  the  sunlight  on  the  floor  in  his 
room,  or  the  sun  itself  ;  a  pool  in  the  street,  or  the 
great  ocean  ;  a  water-lily  as  La  Farge,  or  a  forest  as 
Dupre  ;  the  face  of  his  wife  as  Rembrandt  and  Eu- 
bens,  or  the  face  of  a  madonna  or  a  sibyl  as  Kaph- 


30  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

ael  and  Michael  Angelo.  For  ideas  while  being 
pictorially  beautiful  may  be  small  or  great,  weak 
or  powerful,  commonplace  or  sublime.  And  this 
brings  me  to  the  brief  consideration  of  another  ele- 
ment of  the  modern  picture.  Heretofore  we  have 
spoken  of  natural  beauties  discovered  and  revealed 
to  us  by  the  artist  through  ideas  of  form  and  color, 
or  their  modifications.  But  it  is  necessary  to  con- 
sider the  change  which  a  scene  in  nature  may  un- 
dergo in  the  course  of  its  absorption  and  regenera- 
tion in  the  artist's  brain.  It  is  necessary  to  con- 
sider the  more  emphatic  subjective  element  of  the 
artist  in  his  art. 

Coleridge  has  suggestively  said  that  painting  is 
of  "  a  middle  quality  between  a  thought  and  a 
thing — the  union  of  that  which  is  nature  with  that 
which  is  exclusively  human."  The  definition  is  a 
good  one,  for  painting  is  of  a  dual  nature.  It  is  not 
the  literal  scene  from  life  that  we  care  for,  else 
we  might  content  ourselves  with  a  photograph.  It 
is  not  the  material  facts  of  earth  or  sky  or  sea  upon 
canvas  that  afford  us  pleasure,  else  we  might  get 
these  perhaps  by  a  glance  out  of  the  window  and 
so  not  need  their  imitation.  What  we  seek  for  in 
every  great  picture  is  nature  combined  with  the 
human  element.  The  artist,  his  manner  of  seeing, 
his  manner  of  thinking,  his  manner  of  telling,  be- 
comes an  important  factor  in  the  picture  of  which 


|||,_PUVIS  OE   CHAVANNES,  Tne    Bathers. 


ART   FOR   ARTS   SAKE  31 

we  needs  must  take  account.  The  facts  of  nature — 
and  when  I  use  nature  in  this  connection  I  do  not 
mean  landscape  alone,  but  all  things,  whether  ani- 
mate or  inanimate — the  facts  of  nature,  to  possess 
a  serious  interest  for  us  upon  canvas,  require  to 
be  heated  with  poetic  fire,  transfused,  and  newly 
wrought  in  the  crucible  of  the  painter's  mind. 

It  is  not  worth  while  to  say  with  Mr.  Euskin  that 
the  individuality  of  the  artist  should  be  utterly  swept 
out  of  the  canvas  in  favor  of  the  truths  of  nature 
as  they  are  ;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  intimate,  as  M. 
Veron  does;  that  these  truths  of  nature  are  inferior 
to  the  individuality  of  the  artist.  Both  views  are 
rather  extreme,  though  perhaps  for  the  production 
of  great  art  Veron  is  nearer  right  than  is  Mr.  Eus- 
kin. We  may  take  the  mean  course  and  say  that 
for  a  middle  quality  of  art,  which  I  shall  attemi:)t 
to  classify  hereafter,  the  two  should  go  together. 
Nature,  yes  ;  but  nature  tinctured  by  the  peculiar 
view,  thought,  or  feeling  of  her  interpreter,  or,  as 
Alfred  Stevens  the  painter  has  put  it,  "  Nature  seen 
through  the  prism  of  an  emotion."  Daubigny's 
pictures  of  the  Seine  and  the  Marne  have  no  great 
hold  upon  us  because  of  their  special  truth  to  local- 
ity, nor  are  they  great  works  because  of  their  gen- 
eral fidelity  to  nature.  They  simply  represent  the 
poetic  ideas  of  Daubigny  about  such  natural  beau- 
ties as  river  banks,  silver  skies,  and  evening  atnios- 


32  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

pheres.  In  other  words,  they  are  landscapes  plus 
Daubigny — "  the  union  of  that  which  is  nature  with 
that  which  is  exclusively  human."  This  is  true 
again  of  most  of  the  work  of  that  now  famous 
French  school  of  landscape  painters  known  as 
the  "  men  of  1830,"  whom  Daubigny  succeeded. 
Corot's  landscapes  (Fig.  2)  contain  as  much  of 
Corot  as  of  Ville  d'Avray.  They  are  merely  ideas 
of  white  light,  misty  air,  breathing  expanding  tree? 
as  seen,  felt,  loved,  and  worshipped  throughout  a 
long  life  by  as  sincere  a  lover  as  nature  ever  pos- 
sessed. And  it  is  because  his  landscapes  are  dis- 
tinctly Corotesque  landscapes  that  we  like  them. 
The  paintings  of  Decamps,  Rousseau,  Diaz,  are  all 
precious  to  us  for  a  like  reason.  Each  artist  has  his 
peculiar  view ;  each  is  a  poet  after  his  own  kind, 
telling  truly  and  sincerely  what  he  sees  and  thinks 
to  be  beautiful  in  nature ;  each  is  possessed  of  an 
individuality  that  pervades  his  art  and  turns  the 
canvas,  one  into  the  bright  light  and  life  of  the 
Orient,  one  into  the  volume  and  mass  of  earth,  air, 
trees,  and  skies,  and  one  into  the  depth  of  woodland 
foliage  lit  up  by  broken  lights  and  the  reflecting 
surfaces  of  woodland  ponds. 

The  work  of  Millet  so  aptly  illustrates  this  po- 
etic art,  this  nature  stamped  by  the  impress  of  man, 
that  I  must  call  your  attention  to  his  fine  picture 
of  "The  Sower."     I  have  spoken  of  this  picture  be- 


AKT   FOR   art's   SAKE  33 

fore,  but,  simply  for  the  sake  of  variety,  I  will  not 
now  discard  it  for  a  newer  and  poorer  illustration. 
The  peasant  of  Millet,  considered  historically  or  eth- 
nographically,  is  not  essentially  different  from  the 
peasant  of  any  one  of  Millet's  hundred  imitators  ; 
but  after  being  brooded  over  and  thought  over  in 
the  painter's  mind,  he  became  an  entirely  different 
person.  He  became  endowed  with  poetry  and  art, 
because  looked  at  from  a  poetic  and  artistic  point  of 
view.  The  dusk  of  evening,  with  its  warm  shadows, 
falls  about  the  Sower  ;  the  heavy  air,  which  the 
earth  seems  to  exhale  at  sunset,  enshrouds  him  ; 
luminous  color -qualities  form  his  background;  a 
rhythm  of  line,  a  swinging  motion  give  him  strength 
and  vitality.  It  was  thus  the  artistic  eye  of  Millet 
saw  him.  In  the  twilight  sky,  in  the  deep-shadowed 
foreground,  we  see  that  the  Sower  works  late  ;  in 
the  sweat  and  dust  upon  his  face  and  the  hat 
crowded  over  his  brow  we  see  that  he  is  weary  with 
toil ;  in  the  serious  eyes  looking  out  from  their  deep 
sockets  we  see  the  severity  of  his  fate  ;  yet  the 
strong  foot  does  not  flinch,  the  swinging  arm  does 
not  falter,  the  parched  lips  do  not  murmur.  His 
life  is  but  a  struggle  for  bare  existence,  a  battling 
against  odds,  but  how  noble  the  struggle  !  how 
strong  the  battle !  A  type  of  thousands  in  the 
humble  walks  of  life  bearing  patiently  the  burdens 
laid  upon  him,  though  the  world  has  long  neglected 
S 


34  AKT   FOR  art's   SAKE 

him,  and  fame  has  never  honored  him,  yet  he  is  no 
less  a  man,  a  brave  man,  a  hero.  It  was  thus  the 
poetic  mind  of  Millet  conceived  him. 

Here  in  this  picture  of  the  Sower  we  have  a  good 
instance  of  that  something  "between  a  thought  and 
a  thing  "  which  Coleridge  took  to  be  the  aim  of  art. 
Here  we  have  the  idea  in  art,  but  it  will  be  observed 
that  it  is  quite  different  from  the  narrative  ideas  of 
literature.  It  is  not  a  statement  of  fact,  but  a  sug- 
gestive impression ;  not  a  realization  of  absolute 
nature,  but  a  hint  at  those  deep  meanings  which  will 
not  bear  realization — those  meanings  which  a  sensi- 
tive soul  may  know  and  feel,  and  yet  be  able  to  ex- 
press only  in  part.  For  the  idea  in  art  is  at  the  best 
not  like  a  clear-cut  intellectual  thought,  but  rather 
like  a  sympathetic  sensation  or  an  emotional  feeling. 
Yet  call  it  what  we  choose — emotion,  feeling,  thought, 
or  idea — it  is  about  the  only  mental  conception  that 
painting  is  capable  of  conveying  or  revealing.  With- 
out it  one  may  produce  art  admirable  by  virtue  of 
novelty,  color,  form,  skill  of  hand — the  verve  of  the 
artist ;  with  it  one  may  produce  a  higher  art,  speak 
a  nobler  language,  serve  a  loftier  purpose.  For 
what  one  simply  sees  in  nature  and  portrays  as  it  is 
seen  may  be  good  art,  but  what  one  thinks  or  feels 
about  what  one  sees  produces  much  better  art. 

Yet  there  is  still  a  third,  a  higher  quality  of  paint- 
ing.    For  poetic  feeling  is  as  wide  as  poetry  itself. 


ART   FOR  art's   SAKE  36 

and  may  be  lyrical,  sentimental,  epic,  or  sublime. 
There  are  grades  and  degrees  of  poetic  conceptions 
rising  from  mediocrity  to  lofty  heights,  and  as  a 
pointer's  observation  is  dull  or  keen,  as  his  feeling  is 
indifferent  or  passionate,  as  his  mental  capacity  and 
imaginative  power  are  weak  or  strong,  so  may  his 
art  be  of  a  commonplace  nature,  or  of  that  kind 
which  breathes  the  mystery  and  awe  of  prophetic 
things  from  the  vault  of  the  Sistine. 

Sublime  art  is  so  rarely  seen,  though  we  often 
hear  the  adjective  applied  indiscriminately  to  pict- 
ures that  have  the  flavor  of  age  about  them,  that  it 
is  scarcely  worth  while  to  more  than  mention  it  here, 
especially  as  I  do  not  treat  of  it  hereafter.  It  is  not 
produced  by  equal  parts  of  the  subjective  and  the 
objective  elements,  but  rather  by  a  predominance  of 
the  subjective.  To  attain  sublimity  in  painting,  the 
thought  must  be  so  all-absorbing  that  it  overawes 
form  ;  it  must  carry  us  away  with  its  sudden  revela- 
tion of  might ;  it  must  present  to  us  the  individual 
strength  of  its  producer  so  vividly  that  in  its  con- 
templation we  forget  the  forms  of  the  picture.  A 
good  example  of  this  in  literature  is  the  epitaph 
written  by  Simon  ides  for  the  monument  above  the 
three  hundred  at  Thermopyla; :  "Thou  who  passeth 
by  say  at  Lacedremon  we  lie  here  in  obedience  to 
her  laws."  Here  the  form  or  language  is  very  little, 
but  the  idea  of  self-sacrificing  heroism  is  very  great. 


36  ,    ART   FOR   FOR'S   SAKE 

A  parallel  sublimity  in  painting  has  been  rarely,  if 
ever,  seen.  The  man  who  came  the  nearest  to  it  was 
Michael  Angelo.  The  unfinished  marble  of  "Day " in 
the  Medici  Chapel  is  a  climax  of  great  art,  and  the 
great  mystery-haunted  Prophets,  Sibyls,  and  Genii 
on  the  Sistine  ceiling  are  its  counterparts.  Some 
others,  like  Palma  Vecchio,  Titiau,  Veronese,  and 
Rubens,  have  bordered  upon  sublimity,  and  a  num- 
ber of  others,  like  Blake,  Delacroix,  and  in  America, 
John  La  Farge,  have  barely  fallen  short  of  it. 

It  is  scarcely  to  be  regretted  that  sublimity  is  not 
a  more  frequent  quality  of  art,  for  perhaps  if  it  were 
common  it  would  cease  to  be  sublime.  Gold  gath- 
ers uuto  itself  value  from  its  scarcity,  as  sublimity  irj 
art  from  its  rarity.  Both  are  admirable  things,  bnt 
the  success  of  the  sublimity-hunter  and  that  of  the 
gold-seeker  are  not  essentially  different.  Perhapsi, 
then,  we  would  better  take  warning  and  not  try  to 
test  every  picture  for  sublimity  lest  disappointment 
stare  us  continually  in  the  face.  It  were  wisev  for 
us  to  learn  the  appreciation  and  enjoyment  of  com- 
moner beauties,"  and  if,  in  the  course  of  our  life- 
time, we  chance  to  meet  with  rare  ones  we  may  en- 
joy them  all  the  more  from  never  having  known 
them  before. 

The  attempt  to  classify  different  styles  of  paint- 
ing under  general  heads  is  not  usually  attended  b>' 


ART   FOK  art's   SAKE  37 

happy  results,  but  for  the  purpose  of  recapitulation 
I  shall  try  to  place  modern  art  and  modern  art  ideas 
under  three  heads  : 

First.  The  art  which  discovers  and  reveals  to  us 
beauties  of  nature  by  artistic  ideas  of  form,  color, 
light,  shade,  atmosphere,  and  their  kind. 

Secondly.  The  art  which  is  a  union  of  natural 
beauties  with  the  artistic  and  poetic  ideas  of  the 
artist. 

Thirdly.  Sublime  art  wherein  the  idea  or  individ- 
uality of  the  artist  is  predominant  over  all  forms. 

The  third  class  of  art  is,  as  I  have  intimated,  rarely 
seen.  The  second  class  is  commoner  than  the  third, 
but  by  no  means  common.  Its  exponents  are  such 
men  as  Delacroix,  Corot,  Millet,  Troyon,  who  are 
justly  considered  the  great  modern  masters.  Some- 
thing will  be  said  of  these  men  and  of  their  art,  but 
not  a  great  deal  concerning  the  poetic  side  of  it, 
for  I  shall  speak  more  of  the  painter  than  the  poet. 
The  first  class  contains  the  great  bulk  of  work  not 
only  ill  modern  times  but  in  all  times.  From  it 
painting  rises  to  higher  planes.  It  is  the  initial 
class  for  all  artists  of  whatever  rank,  and  in  one 
sense  they  never  get  beyond  it.  The  masterpieces 
of  the  schools,  whether  ancient  or  modern,  were  con- 
sidered by  their  producers,  first,  for  their  quality 
of  line,  color,  light,  or  shadow — in  short,  for  their 
purely    sensuous  jiainter's  element^and,  secondly, 


38  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

as  vehicles  for  the  conveyance  of  poetic,  religious,  or 
other  ideas.  As  I  have  attempted  to  show  you,  this 
first  kind  of  art  is  not  the  greatest  imaginable,  but 
it  is  that  which  we  shall  see  the  most  of,  and  should 
perhaps  know  the  most  about.  Its  study  would  nat- 
urally lead  us  to  consider  the  artistic  treatment  of 
natural  beauties  by  means  of  color,  tone,  light,  val- 
ues, composition,  drawing ;  and  perhaps  we  would 
better  begin  our  study  by  speaking  of  color  and  the 
different  methods  of  its  use  among  modern  paint- 
ers. 


LECTURE  n. 

'  COLOR 

It  has  been  for  many  years  the  teaching  of  the 
Classicists  and  the  Academicians  that  the  chief  feat- 
ures of  a  picture  is  its  drawing  ;  that  either  the 
winding  line,  or  the  straight  line,  or  the  broken 
line,  as  the  exigencies  of  the  case  require,  is  the  one 
and  only  thing  of  beauty ;  and  that  other  features 
of  painting,  such  as  color,  atmosphere,  light,  shadow, 
are  but  after- considerations,  mere  decorative  effects. 
So  deeply  rooted  in  the  ^ole  des  Beaux  Arts  in 
Paris  is  this  teaching  that  a  saying  of  one  of  its 
early  defenders  has  passed  into  a  proverb :  "  Line 
is  absolute  ;  color  is  relative." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  is  no  such  thing  in  nat- 
ure as  line.  Objects  may  appear  in  strong  relief 
when  seen  against  opposing  backgrounds,  or  they 
may  be  so  blended  as  to  be  almost  imperceptible  ; 
they  may  have  a  round  edge,  a  square  edge,  or  a 
flat  edge,  but  the  supposed  line  is  nothing  more 
than  the  distinction  between  different  colors.  A 
human  hand  resting  across  the  front  of  a  black  coat 


40  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

may  appear  to  have  its  sharp  outKne,  but  this 
is  because  of  the  contrast  between  the  coloring  of 
the  flesh  and  the  coloring  of  the  cloth.  Still  we 
need  not  push  that  point  too  far.  For  in  the  art  of 
painting  line  may  be  said  to  have  a  real  existence, 
and  its  correct  drawing  is  certainly  of  importance ; 
but  the  statement  that  this  is  primary,  and  all  other 
features  secondary  or  subordinate  to  it,  is  only  one 
of  those  extravagant  assertions  which  occasionally 
emanate  from  partisan  lips.  It  could  as  well  be 
said  that  the  human  skeleton  is  absolute,  and  that 
the  flesh,  muscles,  and  skin,  the  blood  that  brings 
the  glow  into  the  cheek  and  the  lustre  into  the  eye 
— in  short,  the  very  life  itself — are  merely  orna- 
mental nothings.  Without  color  the  whole  universe 
would  appear  but  the  dry  bones  of  inorganic  mat- 
ter, like  that  dead  satellite  the  moon  whirled  on- 
ward in  its  passive  way,  airless,  colorless,  soundless, 
lifeless.  Color  may,  indeed,  be  considered  the  sym- 
bol of  life.  For  so  associated  is  it  in  our  minds 
with  animation,  virility,  growth,  power,  that  its 
absence  means  to  us  the  presence  of  death.  But 
while  color  gives  the  show  of  life  it  is  perhaps  lit- 
tle more  absolute  or  indeiDendent  than  line  itself. 
True,  foi'm  may  exist  in  a  way  independent  of  color, 
as  in  charcoal  work,  etching,  and  engraving ;  and  so 
the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  gray  of  the  atmosphei'e,  the 
drift  of  smoke  and  cloud,  the  greens  of  the  ocean, 


COLOR  41 

the  sheen  of  a  silk  or  a  rug,  may  be  expressed  with 
little  or  no  line  ;  but  in  the  main  one  is  dependent 
upon  the  other,  and  both  are  necessary  features  of 
painting. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  painters,  as  distinguished  from 
the  Academic  draughtsmen,  color  is  esteemed  the 
very  highest  quality  a  painting  may  possess.  By  it 
one  may  suggest  lines,  lights,  shadows,  perspective, 
and  in  it  one  may  show  his  individuality,  his  senti- 
ment, his  mood  or  passion,  his  painter's  enthusiasm. 
In  music  hai-mony  is  for  the  present  at  least  the 
final  word.  There  is  nothing  beyond  it.  And  so 
color-harmony  is  now  the  loftiest  pitch  to  which  the 
painter  may  attain,  the  consummation  of  his  art. 
Good  drawing  is  not  infrequently  met  with  among 
all  schools,  but  how  diflScult  of  achievement  is 
color-harmony  may  be  indicated  by  simply  reciting 
the  names  of  the  colorists  during  the  last  four  or  five 
centuries.  From  the  years  one  might  think  the 
number  would  be  large,  but  in  reality  among  the 
thousands  oi  painters  who  have  lived  and  pro- 
duced and  died,  we  may  count  the  great  colorists 
on  our  fingers.  They  are  Titian,  Giorgione,  Tin- 
toretto, Paolo  Veronese,  liiibens,  Velasquez,  Dela- 
croix, and  perhaps  some  few  others  who  had  the 
color-sense  —  the  inclination  rather  than  the  con- 
summation—  like  llembrandt  and  Chardin.  Tlie 
small    number  may  be  accounted   for  perhaps  on 


42  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

the  score  that  there  is  always  a  paucity  of  genius ; 
but  it  may  also  argue  another  point,  namely,  that 
color-harmony  is  not  jet  fundamentally  compre- 
hended, and  hence  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  pro- 
duce even  by  men  of  genius.  Claims  have  been  put 
forth  at  different  times  by  different  people  who 
have  thought  they  possessed  its  basic  secret,  but 
no  one  of  them  has  yet  given  a  satisfactory  working 
explanation  of  it.  The  French  say  that  though  the 
laws  of  color  should  be  studied,  yet  theories  cannot 
produce  the  colorist  ;  and  the  colorists  have  all 
taken  precious  good  care  not  to  explain  anything, 
if  indeed  they  themselves  consciously  understood 
the  working  of  their  own  faculties  or  instincts. 
Nevertheless  there  is  some  truth  in  the  theories, 
and  we  would  better  glance  at  them  a  moment  in 
passing. 

For  some  of  these  color-theories  we  are  indebted 
to  science.  It  has  done  much  toward  establishing 
certain  ground  principles.  It  has,  for  instance,  de- 
monstrated that  color  is  made  apparent  to  the  eye 
by  waves  of  light  in  a  manner  analogous  (in  its 
general  result  at  least)  to  that  of  music  brought  to 
the  ear  on  waves  of  sound.  The  sound-waves  set 
vibrating  the  delicate  fibres  of  the  auditory  nerve 
and  affect  us  pleasurably  or  otherwise  as  the  fibres, 
like  harp  -  strings,  are  harmoniously  touched  or 
swept   by  the   rude  hand   of  discord.     The    light- 


IV— LEONARDO   DA    VINCI,   Mona  Lisa  (La  Gioconda). 


COLOR  43 

waves,  as  they  are  long  or  short,  set  vibrating  the 
no  less  delicate  fibres  of  the  optic  nerve,  or  to 
speak  more  acciirately,  the  nervous  substance  of  the 
retina  whereby  we  see  color,  and  produce  in  us  the 
sensation  of  pleasure  in  a  like  manner.  Whether  it 
be  a  luminous  wave  striking  the  eye,  or  a  sonorous 
wave  striking  the  ear,  the  effect  is  similar  though 
the  sensory  organs  be  different,  and  though  sound 
and  light  themselves  be  different  in  construction. 

The  motive  or  travelling  power  of  light  is  an  in- 
herent quality,  and  the  component  parts  of  light  or 
light-waves  have  certain  proportionate  velocities 
which  have  been  scientifically  tabulated.  Thus, 
when  the  light-wave  is  3 9^^^  of  an  inch  in  length, 
it  produces  red  to  the  eye  ;  when  jxioir  °^  ^^  ^^*^^ 
in  length  it  produces  orange,  and  as  the  waves  de- 
crease in  force  we  see  yellow,  green,  blue,  and  vio- 
let on  through  the  spectrum.  It  is  these  waves  of 
light  varying  in  length  that  produce  color  for  us, 
and  the  different  substances  which  we  have  come  to 
regard  as  colored  possess  no  color  in  themselves, 
but  only  the  power  of  reflecting  waves  of  light  of 
certain  lengths.  But  though  colors  have  no  actual 
existence  outside  of  our  eyes  they  practically  may 
be  said  to  exist  and  to  depend  upon  the  reflecting 
power  of  objects.  When  the  tree  dies  the  green  of 
the  leaf  fades  through  loss  of  vitality,  in  the  same 
way  that  the  sound   of  the  harp-string  is  hushed 


44  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

when  the  propelling  force  is  removed  ;  or,  to  speak 
scientifically  again,  the  light-wave  which  produces 
in  us  the  sensation  of  green  is  destroyed  by  the 
leaf  losing  its  power  of  reflection.  Dulness  of  color 
is  due  to  a  loss  of  vitality  either  in  the  reflecting 
substance  or  in  the  light-wave  ;  brightness  of  color 
is  due  to  a  high  vitality  or  a  stimulated  energy,  as 
we  shall  presently  note  when  we  come  to  speak  of 
complementary  colors. 

So  far  so  good.  This  is  a  clever  and  doubtless  a 
true  explanation  of  the  manner  in  which  our  ner- 
vous organization  is  effected  and  sensation  produced ; 
but  we  are  still  far  removed  from  the  cause  of  har- 
mony. Science  successfully  analyzes  light,  motion, 
and  sensation  ;  but  what  notes,  how  many,  in  what 
proportion  shall  they  be  struck  to  produce  a  phys- 
ical sensation  of  pleasure  ?  We  know  Hamlet's 
pipe  is  capable  of  discoursing  most  eloquent  music, 
and  we  may  analyze  the  sound  of  it  and  our  own 
sensations  of  pleasure  in  it ;  but  the  art  of  the 
player  baffles  us  again.  The  stopping  of  the  frets 
here,  and  the  opening  of  them  there,  so  that  they 
produce  melody  ;  the  putting  of  a  color  in  this 
place,  and  a  color  in  that  place,  so  that  they  produce 
harmony,  is  this  governed  by  an  unalterable  scien- 
tific law,  or  is  it  simply  a  matter  of  individual  feel- 
ing in  the  artist?  M.  Charles  Blanc,  speaking  for 
the  theory  of  Chevreul,  says  the  former  ;  but  though 


COLOR  45 

the  law  of  complementary  and  contrasted  colors  has 
been  known  to  artists  since  the  days  of  Delacroix, 
yet  the  race  of  that  rare  manner  of  man  known  as 
"  the  colorist  "  is  no  more  plentiful  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  to-day  than  before  the  law's  discovery. 

The  substance  of  Chevreul's  theory  as  set  forth 
by  Blanc  is  this.  White  light  is  the  union  of  all 
colors.  Its  decomposition  or  dispersion  makes  the 
different  colors  apparent  as  one  or  more  of  them  are 
separated  from  the  whole  and  reflected.  Thus  the 
rays  of  light  falling  through  a  glass  prism  are  broken 
into  the  colors  of  the  spectrum  ;  falling  upon  a  Jac- 
queminot rose  they  pass  into  and  are  absorbed  in 
the  rose  itself  with  the  exception  of  red,  which  is  re- 
jected and  reflected  ;  falling  upon  grass  they  are 
again  all  absorbed  with  the  excei^tion  of  green.  A 
piece  of  coal  absorbs  all  color  and  remains  black  or 
colorless  ;  a  sheet  of  white  paper  rejects  all  color 
and  therefore  remains  simply  white,  or  colorless 
again. 

There  are,  correctly  speaking,  six  colors.  Three  of 
them — red,  yellow,  and  blue — are  primary  or  simjDle 
colors  ;  and  three  of  them — green,  orange,  and  violet 
— are  binary  or  composite  colors,  because  they  can 
be  formed  by  mixings  of  the  three  primary  colors. 
Each  color  has  what  may  be  called  its  complemen- 
tary opposite,  or  that  color  by  union  with  which 
white  may  be  produced.     Thus  green  and  red  are 


46  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

complementary  and  seek  each  other  because  each 
contains  the  elements  needed  by  the  other  to  make 
up  white.  Being  complementary  their  identities 
are  destroyed  by  mixture — that  is,  by  mixing  they 
become  white ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  if  placed  side  by 
side  they  heighten  each  other's  brilliancy  by  reflec- 
tion. This  is  for  the  reason  that  every  color  will 
cast  about  it  a  halo  or  flush  of  its  complementary 
color.  Thus  red  is  always  bordered  by  a  faint 
tinge  of  green,  and  green  by  a  faint  tinge  of  red.  A 
shaft  of  sunlight  passing  through  a  hole  in  a  yellow 
curtain  will  throw  a  light  suffusion  of  indigo  on  a 
sheet  of  white  paper,  indigo  being  the  complemen- 
tary color  of  yellow,  or  that  color  which  yellow 
needs  to  make  up  pure  white.  The  scientific  reason 
for  the  appearance  of  these  halos  of  complementary 
color  would  require  too  much  time  to  explain  here, 
and  besides  it  is  not  very  important  to  us ;  but  you 
need  not  doubt  the  fact,  for  it  has  been  fully  demon- 
strated. Again,  it  has  been  demonstrated  that  the 
shadow  of  a  color  does  not  show  the  color  itself  but 
a  complementary  color — a  fact  which  has  given  some 
show  of  scientific  reason  for  the  purple  and  violet 
shadows  of  the  Impressionists.  It  is  also  well  known 
that  colors  placed  upon  canvas  appear  to  change 
somewhat  when  contrasted  with  other  colors,  through 
what  is  known  as  optical  mixture. 

Three  conclusions  may  be  drawn  from  this  law  of 


COLOR  47 

color  contrast.  First.  That  brilliancy  is  obtaina- 
ble by  placing  colors  complementary  to  each  other 
side  by  side,  because  each  lends  to  the  other  its 
favorable  halo  of  color  and  thus  tends  to  increase 
the  brightness. 

Secondly.  That  dulness  of  color  is  obtainable  by 
placing  uncomplementary  colors  side  by  side,  be- 
cause each  dulls  the  other  by  casting  an  unfavorable 
halo  of  color.  Thus  yellow,  if  placed  beside  green, 
would  throw  a  slight,  almost  imperceptible,  indigo 
upon  the  green  ;  and  the  green  in  turn  would  throw 
a  suffusion  of  red  upon  the  yellow.  The  result  upon 
both  colors  would  be  a  loss  to  some  extent  of  their 
resonance,  their  brilliancy,  and  their  transparency. 

Thirdly,  That  an  optical  mixture  may  be  obtained 
by  the  employment  of  complementary  colors.  If 
we  look  at  a  red  spot  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
shift  the  sight  to  white  paper  we  shall  see  a  faint 
green  disk  appear.  Applying  this  fact  to  landscape 
a  painter  wishing  in  a  shadow  a  faint  tinge  of  green 
might,  by  the  use  of  red  in  the  object,  create  the 
appearance  of  green  in  the  shadow. 

Here  again  we  have  a  valuable  scientific  demon- 
stration of  the  manner  in  which  the  brightness,  the 
dulness,  the  partial  destruction,  or  the  mixture  of 
colors  is  produced  ;  and  yet  we  are  not  nearer  to  the 
cause  of  harmony.  Brightness  is  no  nearer  to  it 
than  dulness,  and  both  of  them  were  known  to  the 


48  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

ancients  centuries  ago.  Rubens  revelled  in  pris« 
matic  brilliancy,  but  was  he  more  of  a  colorist  than 
Velasquez  with  his  broken  reds  and  silver  grays  ? 
Delacroix  had  a  considerable  knowledge  of  optical 
mixture  and  made  practical  application  of  it,  but  as 
a  colorist  he  falls  short  of  Paolo  Veronese,  who 
probably  knew  nothing  about  it.  Science  would 
seem  to  have  beaten  about  the  bush  because  lacking 
in  power  to  go  directly  into  it.  It  tells  us  how  we 
are  affected,  how  colors  are  mixed,  augmented,  or 
dulled,  how  they  live,  die,  and  travel  ;  it  has  also 
builded  some  theories  founded  upon  the  constants 
of  color,  purity,  luminosity,  hue,  and  their  uses  ;  but 
it  does  not  tell  us  precisely  what  is  harmony,  nor 
analyze  the  motive  of  the  colorist  in  his  placing  of 
hues.  Perhaps  it  is  more  the  affair  of  art  than  of 
science  to  tell  us  this,  yet  should  the  same  question 
be  asked  of  the  painters  their  answers  would  be 
even  more  indefinite  than  those  of  the  color-theo- 
rists. For  they,  too,  are  in  ignorance  of  any  positive 
law  or  formula  for  its  production.  They  follow  cer- 
tain practices  taught  in  the  studios,  but  these  may 
or  may  not  produce  the  desired  results  only  as  the 
practiser  has,  or  has  not,  the  color-instinct.  Much 
depends  upon  the  temperament  of  the  artist — in 
fact  almost  everything.  The  subjective  element — 
the  genius  of  the  individual,  working  unconsciously, 
perhaps — must  never  be  lost  sight  of  for  a  moment, 


COLOR  49 

It  is  a  quality  of  art  that  makes  a  law  unto  itself. 
Homer's  poetry  may  form  rules  of  Greek  prosody  ; 
but  all  the  Greek  prosody  in  the  world  would  not 
make  Homeric  poetry.  The  works  of  the  great  col- 
orists  furnish  chromatic  teaching  for  the  guidance  of 
their  imitators,  but  the  observance  of  the  teachings 
does  not  make  the  imitators  great,  though  it  may 
greatly  improve  thek  talents. 

The  most  common  of  all  the  studio  teachings  is 
based  upon  the  division  of  the  colors  into  warm 
tones  and  cool  tones ;  the  warm  ones  being  the 
reds,  oranges,  and  yellows  ;  the  cool  ones  the  blues, 
greens,  and  violets.  They  are  regarded  as  warm  or 
cool  as  they  approach  or  depart  from  the  color  of 
fire  or  sunlight,  because  of  the  sentiment  or  feel- 
ing they  convey,  and  because  of  the  effect  they  pro- 
duce upon  us.  Thus  white  clouds,  purple  or  snow- 
clad  mountain  peaks,  and  dark-green  foliage  give  us 
the  feeling  of  a  Scandinavian  landscape  because  they 
reflect  the  coloring  of  a  cold  clime.  Yellow  sands, 
heated  air,  heavy  shadows,  and  warm  skies  bring  us 
upon  the  desert,  because  they  reflect  the  coloring  of 
Sahara.  So  again  a  summer  sky  affects  us  with  a 
sense  of  coolness  or  warmth  as  it  is  blue  or  flushed 
with  yellow  ;  and,  in  a  similar  manner,  the  blue- 
greens  of  the  ocean  speak  to  us  of  cold  and  storm, 
while  the  opalescent  tints  reflective  of  the  sky,  in- 
timate warmth  and  calm. 
4 


OO  AET   FOR  art's   SAKE 

In  painting,  the  relief  of  warm  colors  by  cool  ones, 
or  vice  versa,  has  been  the  practice  more  or  less  of  all 
the  painters,  and  is  to  this  day.  Some  artists,  fol- 
lowing Correggio,  build  a  picture  in  circles,  making 
the  centre  warm  and  the  surroundings  cool ;  while 
others,  following  some  of  the  Florentines,  reverse 
this  plan  of  action  by  making  the  centre  cool  and 
the  surroundings  warm.  Some  intermix  warm  and 
cool  tones  in  the  body  of  the  work,  as  did  the  Ve- 
netians ;  and  some  place  them  side  by  side,  as  did 
Eubens.  The  manner  is  a  matter  of  individual  taste 
and  cannot  be  reduced  to  rule.  The  effect  of  this 
intermixture,  and  contrast  of  warm  and  cool  tones 
can  scarcely  be  called  a  color-harmony,  but  rather  an 
agreeable  sensation  arising  from  the  moderation  of 
the  temperature  of  the  picture,  so  to  speak.  The 
extremes  are  avoided,  or  rather  they  balance  one 
another,  and  we  are  neither  chilled  with  cold  nor 
irritated  with  heat.  This  is,  however,  more  of  a 
negative  than  a  positive  quality,  and  is  not  sufficient 
of  itself  to  account  for  harmony. 

Next  to  the  relief  of  warm  colors  by  cool  ones 
comes  the  practice  of  contrast,  or  the  placing  of 
primary  or  complementary  colors  by  the  side  of 
their  opposites.  The  Italians,  down  to  the  time  of 
the  great  Venetians,  used  the  opposition  of  primary 
colors,  such  as  red  and  blue,  so  continuously  that 
to-day  a  Renaissance  picture  with  one  saint  wearing 


COLOR  51 

a  blue  robe  and  another  saint  wearing  a  red  robe 
may  be  set  down  with  considerable  accuracy  as  of 
Italian  origin.  The  simplicity  of  this  coloring.  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  maintains,  comported  well  with 
the  biblical  themes  the  Italians  painted,  because  it 
gave  dignity  and  severity  to  the  characters.  The 
contrast,  though  harsh,  was  exhilarating,  stirring  as 
the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  and  appropriate  to  the  sub- 
jects depicted  as  az-e  the  quick  sharp  notes  of  mar- 
tial music  to  the  marching  host.  But  there  is  some 
doubt  if  they  employed  the  primary  colors  with 
that  aim  solely  in  view.  Sir  Joshua,  like  a  Shake- 
sj^eare-Browning  editor,  credits  his  subject  with  a 
full  quota  of  ideas,  and  then  puts  his  own  ingenuity 
into  the  bargain.  It  is  quite  as  probable  that  the 
Florentines  knew  no  other  color-method,  for  these 
same  primary  tones  appear  in  almost  all  of  the  early 
Italian  and  Renaissance  pictures  without  much  re- 
gard to  the  subjects  cho.sen.  In  the  attempt  to 
avoid  monotony  a  contrast  was  produced  little  short 
of  a  discord.  To  be  sure  the  pictm-es  do  not  appear 
violent  to-day,  owing  to  the  mellowing  effect  that 
disintegrating  time  and  many  coats  of  varnish  have 
had  upon  them,  yet  they  are  not  now  remarkable 
pieces  of  color-harmony,  however  excellent  they  may 
bo  in  line  and  composition. 

The  Bologuese  painters — the  Carracci,  Guido,  and 
others — made  the  discord  less  apparent  by  some- 


52  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

times  washing  out  the  primary  colors,  or  breaking 
them  into  lower  tints,  the  effect  being  that  the  jar 
of  sudden  transition  was  partially  removed  but  har- 
mony not  yet  attained.  In  modern  times  the  re- 
vivers of  Florentine  methods,  like  Ingres  and  his 
following  in  France,  and  the  Pre-Raphaelites  in 
England,  have  only  succeeded  in  reproducing, 
phonograph-like,  the  same  shrill  tones.  Harmony 
by  contrast  of  the  primary  colors,  with  some  nota- 
ble exceptions,  cannot  be  accounted  a  success  by 
the  experience  of  either  the  past  or  the  present. 
Such  a  color-scheme  is  too  palpable,  too  crude,  too 
violent ;  it  lacks  cunning  in  its  design,  depth  in  its 
sentiment,  refinement  in  its  feeling.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain rhythm  or  flow  of  color,  as  there  is  of  line, 
which  the  free  use  of  primary  colors  abruptly 
checks  ;  the  eye  feels  the  interruption  and  recoils 
from  it  as  from  a  sudden  shock. 

The  contrast  of  complementary  colors  in  its  use 
has  been  attended  with  more  pleasing  results  than 
that  of  the  primary  colors.  Orange  placed  beside 
blue  appears  not  out  of  place,  nor  red  beside  green. 
They  move  together,  each  borrowing  from  the  other 
some  of  its  light  and  beauty.  Delacroix,  well  versed 
in  complementary  colors  and  their  play,  used  them 
perhaps  more  effectively  than  any  other  painter  of 
his  time  ;  and  to-day  the  French  and  Spanish 
painters   are  fond  of  them  for  the  production  of 


COLOR  53 

brilliancy.  All  painters  affect  them  somewhat. 
Even  those  who  paint  gray  skies  and  early  spring 
landscapes  will  occasionally  put  a  blue-frocked  man 
in  a  picture  to  tone  down  its  greens,  or  a  red- 
shawled  woman  to  brighten  them.  Where  bright 
hues  are  sought  the  contrasts  are  sometimes  made 
very  strong.  An  Arab  dancer,  for  instance,  may  be 
robed  in  orange  and  blue,  or  a  woman  on  a  green 
side-hill  may  be  dressed  in  red,  or  have  over  her 
head  a  scarlet  parasol.  The  effect  of  vividness  is 
certainly  obtained  in  this  way,  and  there  is  un- 
doubtedly some  harmony  about  it  arising  from  the 
affinities  of  the  opposed  tones. 

Generally  speaking  the  contrast  of  the  primary 
colors  is  too  violent ;  that  of  complementary  colors, 
while  equally  vivid,  is  a  closer  approach  to  harmony 
for  the  reason  I  have  just  given,  but  does  not  yet 
fairly  strike  the  m;irk.  Now,  if  we  do  away  with  con- 
trast altogether  as  the  chief  color-aim,  and  examine 
the  accord  of  similar  or  closely  related  colors,  we 
shall,  I  think,  be  nearer  an  understanding  of  har- 
mony, though  we  shall  not  wholly  account  for  it  by 
any  process  of  reasoning  or  logical  theory.  Color 
appears  at  the  best  advantage  when  treated  in  a 
manner  analogous  to  that  in  which  light  and  shade 
are  dealt  with.  A  portrait  whic-h  shows  the  shadow 
under  the  eyebrow  dull  l)l;ick  or  brown,  and  the 
light    on    the    nos(;    i)ur(^    white,    is    "forced,"   and 


54  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

quite  intolerable,  except  in  the  hands  of  a  Rena- 
brandt.  The  change  should  be  gradual,  and  neither 
dark  nor  light  used  in  extreme  measure.  So  the 
transition  from  the  pink  of  the  cheek  to  the  ivory- 
yellow  of  the  throat  should  be  by  stages  of  progres- 
sion, not  abruptly  or  violently.  This  gradation  by 
very  delicate,  at  times  imperceptible  transitions,  is 
characteristic  of  all  nature.  There  are  few  sharp 
breaks  or  changes  in  landscape,  but  rather  a  grad- 
ual mingling,  a  blending  of  all  colors  into  one  har- 
monious tone.  The  green  of  a  tree  seen  against  a 
blue  sky  appears  to  be  a  harsh  contrast  of  opposed 
colors  ;  but  the  light  through  the  branches  of  the 
tree  changes  the  green  to  a  shade  of  gray,  the  at- 
mosphere helps  the  graying-down  process,  until,  be- 
tween the  two,  we  have  not  a  green  but  a  greenish- 
gray  ;  or,  if  there  be  sunlight,  a  greenish-yellow, 
either  of  which  colors  makes  an  agreeable  transition 
to  blue.  And  for  a  more  delicate  gradation  of  color 
consider  the  petal  of  a  rose  with  its  imperceptible 
blendings,  or  the  flush  of  an  evening  sky  leading  up- 
ward toward  the  zenith,  or  the  eastern  sky  at  sun- 
set. This  succession  of  tints  following  each  other  so 
rhythmically  is  one  of  the  most  charming  beauties 
of  nature,  aj^pearing  not  in  the  countless  shades  and 
tones  of  landscape  alone,  but  in  all  things  of  visible 
life.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too  insignificant  to 
have  its  gradations  and  changes  of  colors,  and  the 


COLOK  65 

more  delicate  they  are  the  less  likely  we  are  to  see 
them.  The  opal  in  a  ring  kindles,  flames,  and  color- 
fuses  as  we  turn  it ;  but  the  unnoticed  pebble  at  our 
foot,  the  scales  of  a  fish,  the  coat  of  a  tiger,  or  the 
cheek  of  a  child  will  change  and  shift,  blend  and  in- 
termingle in  a  no  less  wonderful  and  beautiful  way. 
In  painting  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  the  whole 
register  of  color  from  red  to  violet  should  be  trav- 
elled through  in  the  attempt  to  gain  a  harmonious 
result.  The  accord  of  similar  tints  may  be  sufficient, 
provided  each  tint  holds  its  proper  place  in  the 
scale.  By  "  proper  place  "  is  meant  not  the  position 
of  colors  as  they  stretch  across  or  up  and  down 
the  canvas,  but  as  they  recede  in  the  background. 
This  involves  what  is  known  in  studio  parlance  as 
"value,"  the  meaning  of  which  I  shall  endeavor  to 
explain  more  fully  hereafter.  It  is  sufficient  for  the 
present  to  say  that  the  faithful  maintenance  of  values 
requires  that  every  shade  or  color  in  a  picture  shall 
be  placed  as  it  would  appear  in  nature,  and  shall 
hold  its  proper  relationship  in  the  scale  of  light  or 
dark  to  other  shades  or  colors.  Fromentin,  himself 
a  painter  and  a  high  authority,  has  said  that  "  the 
whole  art  of  the  colorist  lies  in  tliis  knowledge,  and 
in  employing  the  exact  relation  of  values  in  tones." 
At  the  present  time  value  to  some  painters  has 
come  to  mean,  primarily,  tlie  slight  difference  in 
light  pitch  between  similar  tints  or  tones,  as,  for 


tM  art  for  art's  sake 

instance,  the  difference  in  whites  between  a  white 
handkerchief  and  the  white  snow  upon  which  it  may 
be  lying,  between  a  gi'ay  house  and  a  gray  sky,  a 
pink  flower  and  a  pink  dress,  a  green  tree  and  a 
green  hill-side  seen  at  slightly  varying  distances. 
The  bringing  out  of  these  delicate  tones  of  color  by 
giving  them  their  just  value  in  light  or  dark  is  con- 
sidered by  the  best  modern  artists  to  be  the  great 
secret  of  color  harmony.  Alfred  Stevens,  who  as 
a  painter  has  a  refined  color-sense,  says:  "The 
painter  who  does  not  know  how  to  '  detach '  a 
lemon  on  a  Japanese  plate  is  not  a  delicate  colorist." 
Here  we  have  the  problem  of  values  again — the  giv- 
ing of  the  relative  importance  to  the  coloring  of 
both  the  plate  and  the  lemon  which  shall  place  them 
in  proper  relationship — and  here  is  the  problem  of 
color-harmony  by  gradations  of  similar  tones,  the 
solution  of  which  Stevens  seems  to  think  the  man- 
ner in  which  delicate  coloring  is  obtained. 

We  have  now  before  us  the  principal  methods  of 
handling  color  employed  by  the  painters,  the  relief 
of  warm  colors  by  cool,  or  vice  verbid,  the  contrasts 
of  primary  and  complementary  colors,  the  blend- 
ing of  similar  tones  and  colors  by  gradation  and  val- 
ues ;  yet  we  are  still  somewhat  in  the  dark  as  to  what 
is  harmony  and  how  it  is  produced.  Perhaps  the 
blending  of  colors  by  gi'adation  and  values,  of  which 
I  have  just  spoken,  produces  the  nearest  approach 


COLOR  57 

to  a  sought-for  effect  which  when  seen  we  recognize 
as  harmony.  At  least  we  would  better  so  consider 
it.  In  the  meantime,  while  we  are  unable  to  solve 
the  entire  problem,  we  shall  not  go  astray  if  we  class 
the  colorist  with  the  poet  as  a  person  born  and  not 
made.  And  harmony  we  must  regard  as  a  pictorial 
poetry,  the  product  of  a  special  faculty  or  individ- 
ual feeling,  a  something  which  cannot  be  brought  to 
book  nor  ruled  into  method.  For  our  practical  use 
in  trying  to  judge  of  harmonious  coloring  in  pict- 
ui'es,  perhaps  we  should  pay  less  heed  to  theories 
than  to  our  senses  and  our  taste. 

Man  has  two  kinds  of  taste,  a  natural  taste  and  an 
acquired  taste.  In  a  state  of  barbarism  the  natural 
— the  physical — man  outbalances  the  mental,  rejoic- 
ing in  the  strong,  the  violent,  the  unrefined.  He 
knows  neither  delicacy  nor  grace,  neither  tenderness 
nor  sympathy.  Animal  force,  limited  skill,  crude  in- 
stincts are  his  chief  possessions.  In  the  civilized 
state  all  tliis  is  changed.  The  mental  man  out- 
balances the  physical,  and  educaHon  eradicates  the 
natural  taste  in  favor  of  an  acquired  one,  which  is 
stronger  and  more  suitable  to  cultivated  life.  The 
mind  under  training  becomes  tempered  like  a  Toledo 
blade,  it  has  fineness,  keenness,  subtlety  ;  the  trained 
taste  is  but  a  reflection  of  the  mind  and  requires 
skill  as  well  as  force,  and  dei)th  as  well  as  height. 
Thus  it  is  that  in  a  matter  of   color   our   Western 


58  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

Indian  rejoices  in  crude  ochres,  flaring  reds,  and 
poisonous  greens ;  decorates  his  implements  of  the 
chase,  his  moccasins,  his  leggings,  his  tent-skins  with 
these  colors  ;  and  when  he  goes  on  the  war-path  stim- 
ulates his  courage  by  applying  to  his  person  an  extra 
quantity  of  them.  The  old  civilization  of  the  Eastern 
Indians  shows  quite  the  reverse  of  all  this.  With  it 
delicacy  of  shade  and  richness  of  hue  predominate, 
primitive  colors  are  seldom  used,  and  broken  tones 
ai'e  so  placed  that  they  do  not  jar,  but  blend  like  the 
bleached  foliage  of  late  autumn  or  the  delicate  har- 
monies of  a  summer  sea. 

We  would  do  well  to  take  a  lesson  from  the  Ori- 
entals in  this  matter,  for  they  teach  us  what  is  un- 
doubtedly true,  that  there  is  a  difference  between 
color  and  colors,  and  that  good  color  does  not  exist 
in  brightness,  sharj)uess,  and  contrast  alone,  but  ap- 
pears more  frequently  in  mellowness,  richness,  and 
accordance.  It  is  not  the  U2:)per  treble  that  pleases 
the  cultivated  taste  so  often  as  the  lower  notes.  Yet 
the  startling  beauty  which  bright  color  possesses 
when  well  handled,  as  in  some  of  Rubens's  pictures, 
is  undoubtedly  a  very  high  tyj)e  of  art,  and  naturally 
it  is  one  much  affected  by  young  artists.  The  infer- 
ence of  many  of  them  is,  perhaps,  somewhat  like  our 
own,  namely,  that  color  means  bright  color,  and  the 
bi'ighter  it  is  the  nearer  is  the  jjainter  apjDi-oached 
to  a  colorist.     As  a  result  we  find  the  modern  art- 


COLOR  59 

world  abounding  with  canvases  checked  and  counter- 
checked  by  contrasts,  and  so  discordant  with  flaring 
hues  as  to  give  a  well-trained  eye  a  temporary  attack 
of  ophthalmia  or  strabismus.  Doubtless  the  pro- 
ducers of  these  canvases  try  as  best  they  know  how 
to  follow  the  Fromeutin  formula  of  choosing  colors 
beautiful  in  themselves  and  arranging  them  in  ap- 
propriate and  beautiful  combinations  ;  but,  unfort- 
unately, they  do  not  know  the  beautiful  in  color, 
and,  judging  from  the  manner  in  which  their  pict- 
ures are  admired,  one  might  say  that  we  know  even 
less  about  it  than  the  artists. 

Now  when  there  is  a  very  small  percentage  of  the 
world  of  painters  made  up  of  colorists  in  high  kej's, 
perhaps  the  wisest  thing  we  can  do  in  looking  at 
pictures  is  not  to  spend  our  time  in  searching  for  ex- 
amples of  these  exceptional  men.  Rather  should  we 
try  to  get  some  enjoyment  out  of  tliose  pictures 
which  deal  with  a  less  florid  and  a  less  ambitious 
color-gamut.  We  shall  not  make  a  mistake  if,  as 
a  general  rule,  we  give  our  attention  to  low- toned 
pictures,  or  even  those  that  are  almost  monotone,  to 
the  neglect  of  those  which  are  vividly  set  forth.  Our 
gain  will  be  in  more  ways  than  one. 

First.  The  low-toned  pictures  with  few  colors 
may  be  simpler  and  broader  in  color-composition, 
and  simplicity  and  breadth  serve  a  purpose  in  aid- 
ing comprehension  by  directness. 


60  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

Secondly.  Their  color  is  never  ii'ritatingly  con- 
spicuous, nor  are  they  solely  dependent  upon  it  for 
success. 

Thirdly.  A  certain  percentage  of  very  good 
painters  use  only  dull  and  faded  hues  for  the  very 
reason  that  they  are  not  conspicuous,  and  because 
they  lend  to  the  portrayal  of  other  beauties,  such 
as  atmosphere,  light,  shadow,  and  their  kind. 

By  choosing  first  low-keyed  pictures  and  pictures 
simple  in  color-composition,  we  shall  not  only  rid 
ourselves  of  a  great  many  crazy-quilt  affairs,  but 
among  them  we  shall  be  more  likely  to  find  good 
pieces  of  work  than  among  those  of  brighter  and 
more  variegated  hues.  To  be  sure,  the  successful 
management  of  high  diversified  color  evidences  a 
wider  scope,  a  more  masterful  command,  and  hence 
a  more  complete  beauty  than  may  perhaps  be  found 
in  the  lower  notes  ;  but  we  would  be  in  error  did 
we  infer  that  all  beauty  lies  in  the  upper  scales  and 
that  the  lower  notes  are  simply  negative.  The  red 
rose  may  be  thought  the  most  perfect  of  flowers,  but 
is  the  pale  violet  less  beautiful  in  consequence  there- 
of? The  crimsons  and  golds  of  sunset  flame  and 
glow  with  brilliant  splendor,  but  turn  about  and  see 
if  the  pearly  grays  of  the  eastern  sky  have  not  their 
color-charm  as  well.  Among  the  Gobelins  it  is  not 
the  brightly  colored  but  the  low-toned,  pale-keyed 
tapestries  which  are  the  most  sought  after,  and  there 


COLOR  61 

is  a  method,  not  a  fashion,  in  the  preference.  It  is 
the  charm  of  accord — the  unity  of  color — that  pleases. 
And  so  in  the  dull  clouds  hanging  over  the  Jersey 
marshes  in  November,  in  the  volumes  of  silvery 
smoke  thrown  up  from  factory  chimneys  and  loco- 
motives, in  the  reflected  grays  of  the  pools  and  the 
creeks,  the  faded  yellows  and  browns  of  the  rush- 
es, there  is  a  wealth  of  color-beauty  which  only  the 
trained  eye  can  appreciate.  Such  a  scene  may  have 
infinitely  more  refinement  about  it  than  the  scar- 
let foliage  and  blue  sky  of  an  October  noon-day. 
Sunlight  colors,  and  it  may  also  discolor  by  too 
great  an  intensity.  There  is  often  more  charm  in 
twilight  than  in  sunlight,  and  more  beauty  in  storms 
than  in  fair  skies.  Witness  the  heavy  lowering  days 
of  spring  that  hang  over  the  North  Atlantic  like 
a  veil,  the  trooping  clouds,  the  swirling  rains,  the 
whitened  foam,  tlie  cobalt  blues  and  emerald  greens 
of  the  waves.  Such  a  scene  does  not  perhaps  ap- 
peal to  us  so  powerfully  at  first  as  that  vivid  sunset 
on  the  rim  of  the  iridescent  plane  of  water,  the  sun 
itself  sinking  into  the  depths  like  a  great  wheel  of 
fire  ;  but  its  very  sombreness  may  be  its  charm  and 
its  sullen  mood  a  note  of  power. 

The  chief  reason,  however,  why  we  should  firsl 
look  to  low-keyed  pictures  is  not  that  they  are,  by 
themselves  considered,  better  or  worse  than  high 
keyed  pictures  ;  but  that  in  proportion  we  are  likely 


62  ART   FOR  ART'S   SAKE 

to  find  more  good  work  among  the  former  than 
among  the  latter.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that  every 
picture  painted  in  low  colors  is  not,  in  consequence 
thereof,  a  masterpiece  of  art.  Worthless  pictures  may 
be  i^ainted  in  grays  as  readily  as  in  scarlets  ;  but,  as 
I  have  intimated,  the  low  colors  have  an  advantage 
over  the  high  ones  in  that  they  are  not  so  preten- 
tious, and  therefore,  not  so  flagrantly  offensive  in 
failure.  Bad  grammar  in  a  dialect  may  be  irritating 
enough,  but  bad  grammar  in  a  court  language  like 
the  French  is  quite  unbearable. 

Again,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  infer  that  every 
bright  picture,  is  in  consequence  of  its  brightness, 
a  bad  picture.  On  the  contrary,  the  Venetians,  not 
to  mention  Rubens,  were  famous  for  their  high  keys. 
But  it  will  be  readily  understood,  I  fancy,  that  their 
works  belong  among  the  exceptionally  good,  and  we 
are  not  now  considering  the  few  but  the  many.  If 
red  and  blue  in  their  primary  intensities  are  quar- 
relling hues — and  they  do  quarrel  in  many  pictures 
by  the  old  masters — it  is  apparent  that  they  will 
be  less  antagonistic  if  their  intensities  be  reduced. 
Pale  blues  and  reds  placed  side  by  side  will  not  jar 
so  violently  as  bright  tones  of  the  same  colors,  and 
dull  tones  like  brown  and  gray  will  not  jar  at  all. 

Next  to  the  low-toned  pictures  we  would  do  well 
to  regard  those  of  deep  rich  color,  for  they  again 
are   oftener   good   than    the   bright   ones,  and   for 


COLOR  63 

the  same  reason.  Depth  of  color,  as  distinguished 
from  shallowness  and  crudeness,  may  be  easily  de- 
tected if  we  place  upon  the  floor  a  well-worn  Da- 
ghestan  rug  and  beside  it  a  new  American  rug  of 
factory  manufacture.  The  one  will  be  seen  to  have 
body,  warmth,  and  richness  to  it ;  while  the  other 
will  have  a  surface  hue,  as  though  the  color  were 
only  skin-deep  and  liable  to  wash  off  in  the  first 
rain-storm.  Of  themselves  there  is  nothing  tawdry 
or  crude  about  woods  of  pine,  maple,  and  cherry  ; 
but  place  them  beside  a  piece  of  old  mahogany 
and  they  suffer  by  comparison.  So  again  the  old 
Cordova  leathers  have  a  quality,  a  richness  about 
them  which  is  not  apparent  in  the  bright  English 
moroccos.  As  a  matter  of  taste  a  deep  color  is  al- 
most always  preferable  to  a  primary  intensity.  We 
do  not  hesitate  to  choose  an  Indian-red  in  prefer- 
ence to  a  brick-red,  a  peacock-blue  to  a  sky-blue,  or 
an  olive-green  to  a  grass-green.  The  lighter  hues 
strike  us  as  too  gay,  too  flippant,  too  flimsy  ;  while 
the  deeper  tones  comport  better  with  dignity  and 
what  we  call  "  good  style  "  or  "  keeping."  It  is,  for 
one  reason,  because  depth  of  color  has  a  quality  of 
beauty  in  itself  that  so  many  artists  employ  it  in 
their  pictures.  It  was  the  strength  and  mellow- 
ness of  the  notes  that  led  Brouwer  and  Teniers  and 
Pieter  de  Hooghe  to  use  deep  golden  browns  in 
their  interior  pictures  ;  it  was  the  warmth  and  glow 


64  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

of  garnet  reds  and  Egyptian  yellows  that  led  De- 
camps and  Fromentin  to  use  them  in  their  Oriental 
scenes ;  and  Diaz,  Jacque,  Dupre,  all  chose  deep, 
broken  tones  of  brown,  green,  and  orange,  not  be- 
cause they  always  saw  them  in  nature,  but  because 
they  always  felt  that  those  colors  possessed  strong 
character  and  pure  beauty  in  themselves. 

There  is  another  reason  why  some  painters  have 
preferred  deep  colors  to  light  ones.  A  color  of  any 
grade  or  degree  is  primarily  used  to  subserve  one  of 
two  purposes.  Either  it  represents  beauty  as  color 
in  itself,  or  it  stands  as  the  representation  of  a  cer- 
tain sentiment  or  state  of  feeling.  It  has  been  said 
that  one  can  give  a  blind  man  an  idea  of  the  color 
red  by  telling  him  that  it  resembles  the  blast  of  a 
trumpet.  In  that  sense  all  the  colors  of  the  spec- 
trum may  be  regarded  as  symbols  suited  to  express 
difterent  sentiments  ;  and  the  strength  of  a  senti- 
ment may  be  interpreted  by  the  deepening  or  the 
lightening  of  the  hues.  Thus,  while  a  bright  hue 
may  portray  a  shrill  cry  of  anguish,  as  a  singer 
pitches  a  shriek  in  the  upper  scale,  so  a  low  tone 
may  disclose  a  dark  despair,  a  crushing  sorrow,  such 
as  the  singer  interprets  again  in  those  mellow  notes, 
not  loud  but  deep,  which  move  us  to  tears  of  sym- 
pathy. It  is  thus  that  Delacroix  tells  us  the  despair 
of  the  lost  in  the  deep  blues  of  the  "  Shipwreck  of 
Don  Juan,"  and  in  the  "Dante  and  Virgil ; "  it  is 


V[        '"OKKt'jfjIO     L:i    Niitte. 


COLOR  65 

thus  that  Watteau  gives  us  the  light  airy  spirit  of  his 
characters  in  the  gay  reds,  yellows,  and  light-greens 
of  his  fete  scenes  ;  it  is  thus  that  Millet  speaks  the 
hard  uncompromising  life  of  the  peasant  in  the  dull 
browns,  mournful  grays,  and  sad  yellows  of  "  The 
Woodcutter "  and  the  "Spaders."  Poet,  musician, 
painter,  may  all  use  like  means  to  the  attainment  of 
like  ends.  It  is  the  skilled  Timotheus  of  the  lyre 
whose  smooth  notes  incline  the  king  to  love  and 
pleasure,  whose  sad  notes  subdue  him  with  the 
thought  of  Darius  fallen  from  his  high  estate,  whose 
clanging  notes  rouse  him  like  a  rattling  peal  of 
thunder,  and  lead  him  on  to  revenge  and  fury.  If, 
then,  the  poet  and  the  musician  strike  the  deep 
notes  oftenest,  it  is  because  they  portray  the  deep- 
est passions  ;  and  if  the  painter  mix  warmth  and 
shadow  depths  with  his  hues  it  is  often  for  a  simi- 
lar reason. 

This  sentiment  seems  to  be  an  accompaniment  to 
the  subject  portrayed,  and  belongs  to  it  by  associa- 
tion as  much  as  a  blue  sky  to  a  bright  day.  There 
is,  perhaps,  a  certain  appropriateness  in  the  use  of 
gay  colors  for  a  ball-room  scene,  and  dull  colors  for 
a  funeral,  bright  colors  for  a  comedy,  and  sombre 
colors  for  a  tragedy,  and  many  artists  have  so  used 
them  ;  at  times,  indeed,  to  the  distortion  of  nature 
which  really  possesses  no  sentiment  in  itself.  But 
there  are  numbers  of  brilliant  exceptions  to  any 
6 


66  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

law  that  might  be  derived  from  such  a  practice. 
Titian,  Tintoretto,  Kubens,  and  Goya  offered  an 
atonement  for  the  tragic  scenes  they  portrayed  in 
the  splendor  of  their  coloring.  With  them  sky, 
earth,  air,  do  not  weep  and  grow  sad  in  sympathy 
with  the  suffering  hero.  Christ  staggers  beneath 
the  cross  on  the  way  to  Calvary,  surrounded  by  the 
rich  colors  of  a  Csesar's  triumph  ;  martyrdoms  of 
saints  by  fire  and  sword  are  luminous  with  light 
and  brilliantly  keyed  in  reds  and  yellows ;  and  the 
horrors  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition  are  pictured  in 
shrewd  harmonies  of  blood  and  flame. 

There  is  no  association  of  color  with  the  sentiment 
of  the  subject  in  such  instances  ;  but  there  is,  how- 
ever, a  subjective  emotion — a  state  of  feeling  in  the 
artist.  The  painter  has  a  way  of  revealing  himself 
in  color,  and  by  color  telling  us  what  beauties  of  na- 
ture he  loves  the  best.  Regnault,  at  one  time  in  his 
career,  seemed  to  live  for  clear  air  and  bright  sun- 
light. He  had  a  passion  for  them  which  was  all- 
absorbing.  They  were  the  inclination  of  his  taste, 
the  incarnation  of  his  ideal  of  beauty.  Naturally 
those  bright  tones  that  revealed  light  and  air  the 
best  were  the  ones  he  oftenest  chose  to  use.  The 
subject  mattered  little.  If  he  used  red  it  might 
be  in  the  form  of  a  brick  wall,  a  silk  robe,  or  a 
pool  of  blood.  Any  one  of  them  served  to  express 
his  feeling  for  color.     With  Courbet  it  was  quite 


COLOR  67 

the  reverse.  His  mood  appeared  almost  always 
sombre.  Did  he  paint  the  ocean,  it  was  not  brill- 
iant with  blues  and  greeus,  but  heavy  with  tempest 
and  darkened  with  rolling  clouds.  Did  he  paint  a 
combat  of  deer  in  a  summer  woodland,  it  was  with 
deep  browns  and  greens  and  heavy  shadows,  sun- 
light and  blue  sky  were  banished,  and  light-colored 
foliage  was  shunned.  Did  he  paint  a  portrait,  it  was 
again  a  scheme  of  solemn,  deep  tones,  a  head  peer- 
ing out  of  gloom,  a  hand  coming  out  of  darkness. 
But  this  was  the  way  Courbet  felt.  His  color-notes 
were  the  index  of  his  artistic  character.  They  re- 
vealed the  sentiment  and  the  feeling  of  the  man — 
those  two  qualities  which  he  sneered  at  all  his  life 
and  intimated  had  no  place  in  art. 

Different  again  from  both  Kegnault  and  Courbet 
was  Corot,  who  looked  to  the  early  light  of  morning 
as  the  supreme  beauty  of  the  universe.  The  grays, 
browns,  and  pale  yellows  of  his  landscapes  are  but 
so  many  notes  of  a  painted  lyric — the  song  of  a  new 
Orpheus  to  the  coming  dawn.  Color  and  light  were 
never  made  more  direct  revealers  of  personal  senti- 
ment than  with  Corot.  His  color  was  not  deep  like 
that  of  Dupro,  nor  varied  like  that  of  Rousseau.  In 
conceptions  of  beauty  lie  was  not  so  diversified  as 
they  were,  nor  so  turbulent  in  demonstration.  His 
was  a  clear,  pure  flame,  burning  on  throughout  a 
long  lifetime  ;  theirs  was  fitful,  flaring  up  at  times 


68  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

with  great  splendor,  and  then  again  sinking  down  low 
in  the  socket.  It  would  not  do  to  say  that  their  sen- 
timent was  deeper  than  his  because  their  color  was  so. 
For  here  none  of  them  attempts  to  associate  color  with 
any  extraneous  sentiment  about  the  landscape.  In 
each  case  the  color  used  tells  merely  the  personal  sen- 
timent or  preference  of  the  painter,  and  the  sentiment 
depends  not  upon  the  depth  or  height  of  hue  so  much 
as  upon  the  emotional  depth  or  height  of  the  man. 

And  lastly  we  come  to  high  color,  the  harmony 
of  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  difficult  problem  and 
the  most  admirable  feature  of  the  painter's  art.  The 
very  rarity  of  a  high-keyed  harmony,  the  genius  re- 
quired for  its  production,  might  be  sufficient  reason 
for  our  admiring  it ;  but  there  are  other  good  rea- 
sons inherent  in  the  colors  themselves.  Our  ap- 
plause for  the  high  notes  of  vocal  music  is  not  all 
given  to  the  difficulty  of  the  accomplishment.  The 
pure  beauty  of  the  notes  themselves  captivates  us. 
It  is  so  with  the  high  notes  of  color.  When  har- 
moniously used  they  constitute  not  only  climacteric 
art,  but  beauty  in  the  superlative  degree.  They 
have  sweep,  resonance,  penetration,  strength  of  feel- 
ing ;  they  have  the  capacity  of  revealing  depth  of 
emotion  ;  they  have  the  ability  to  raise  us  on  the 
wings  of  the  sublime.  Infinite  in  power  as  Shake- 
speare's liquid  words,  they  form  the  epic  language 
of  the  Shakespeares  of  the  brush. 


COLOR  69 

But  just  how  one  should  distinguish  the  Shake- 
speares  of  the  brush  from  the  Tuppers  of  the  brush, 
and  just  how  one  should  discriminate  between  the 
true  language  and  its  tawdry  imitation  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  tell  in  words.  Every  rule  that  could  be 
formulated  would  be  subject  to  so  many  exceptions 
as  to  render  it  quite  worthless.  We  know  and  feel 
the  quality  of  good  color  in  contradistinction  to  bad 
color,  but  how  we  know  it  we  are  somewhat  at  a 
loss  to  divine.  Were  color  a  reasonable  thing  it 
might  be  subjected  to  law,  but  it  is  decidedly  un- 
reasonable, in  fact  it  hardly  appeals  to  reason  at  all, 
but  rather  to  a  sense  or  instinct.  We  turn  over 
different  patterns  of  silks  or  wall-papers,  rejecting 
dozens  to  pick  out  one  that  pleases  us.  The  mitul, 
practically  speaking,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
choice.  It  is  the  eye  that  says  instantly  whether  a 
coloring  is  pleasing  or  not,  as  the  waves  of  light 
strike  the  sensitive  nerves  of  the  retina  pleasurably 
or  otherwise.  All  the  reason  in  the  world  could  not 
make  us  enjoy  the  sight  of  Indian  war-paint,  nor  the 
sound  of  grinding  glass  under  foot.  The  nei-ves 
rebel  without  questioning  the  faculties  of  reason,  or 
the  theories  of  science.  It  is  chiefly  by  the  sensi- 
tiveness of  the  eye  that  we  are  able  to  discriminate 
between  good  color  and  bad  color,  between  harmony 
and  discord  ;  and  our  classification  of  color  into  low 
tones,  deep  tones,  and  high  tones,  is  merely  to  point 


70  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

out  the  degrees  of  color,  and  to  indicate  in  what 
proportion  their  combinations  upon  canvas  have 
been  found  harmonious  by  people  of  taste.  For 
that  purpose  the  classification  may  be  of  service  in 
enabling  one  to  avoid  much  that  is  bad  in  color,  and 
in  giving  the  proper  direction  in  the  education  of 
the  sense  of  sight,  but  no  more.  Sensitiveness  to 
color  is  undoubtedly  increased  by  experience,  for 
sight  is  susceptible  of  cultivation  like  any  other 
sense  ;  and  the  only  way  that  people  ever  become 
good  judges  of  color-harmony  is  by  continually  see- 
ing and  studying  it  in  the  best  models.  We  can 
learn  much  by  association,  for  the  human  being  is, 
after  all,  of  the  chameleon  breed,  assuming  readily 
the  coloring  of  his  surroundings. 

Though  it  is  impossible  to  give  an  adequate  rule 
that  will  enable  one  to  appreciate  readily  a  harmony 
of  high  color,  yet  there  is  one  point  that  may  be 
mentioned  here,  more  by  way  of  suggestion  than 
dictum.  There  is  a  difference  in  the  quaUties  of 
high  colors  arising  from  their  mixing  and  their 
handling,  and  this  difference  is  easily  detected.  In 
the  city  of  New  York  one  may  buy  on  the  street 
corner,  for  two  or  three  dollars,  frame  included,  what 
is  called  a  "genuine  oil-painting,"  as  indeed  it  is. 
These  pictures  are  usually  painted  in  very  florid 
colors,  but  if  you  examine  the  colors  closely  you  will 
find  them  shallow,  muddy  from  bad  mixing,  lacking 


COLOR  71 

in  transparency,  and  utterly  devoid  of  feeling  or 
sentiment.  They  have  on  their  faces  the  stamp  of 
crudity,  such  as  we  associate  with  the  rampant  lion 
on  the  tavern  sign.  On  tbe  contrary,  if  we  study 
some  of  the  pictures  of  Alfred  Stevens,  for  instance, 
we  shall  find  the  colors  quite  as  high,  but  of  a  differ- 
ent quality.  His  colors  are  possessed  of  richness, 
body,  strength.  They  look  pure  as  jewel  lights,  or 
ocean  depths,  and  they  seem  to  sound  mellow  as 
cathedral  bells.  The  difference  between  the  two  is 
similar  to  that  between  the  golden  shields  of  Solo- 
mon and  the  brazen  shields  of  Rehoboam.  We 
should  not  be  led  astray  by  the  brazen  shields  in  art. 
They  are  the  imitations,  the  counterfeits  that  pass 
current  for  value.  Sound  them  to  the  eye  as  one 
rings  tbe  coin  to  the  ear,  and  their  baseness  is  im- 
mediately apparent. 

I  now  wish,  before  closing  with  this  subject,  to 
speak  in  brief  of  some  of  the  chief  colorists  whose 
works  you  may  have  seen,  or  may  be  fortunate 
enough  to  see  hereafter.  Refined  color- — note  the 
word  refined — is  not  found  with  any  primitive  age  or 
people.  It  seems  to  belong  to  the  latest  period  of 
enlightenment ;  it  is  associated  with  wealth,  luxury, 
splendor ;  and  it  is  sometimes  looked  upon  as  the 
forerunner  of  political  and  social  decay.  Egypt, 
Assyria,  Greece,  and  Rome,  so  far  as  we  positively 
know,  did  not  possess  it.      The  colors  of  the  Egyp- 


72  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

tians  and  Assyrians  were  primitive  and  crude.  Those 
of  Greece  and  Rome  are  supposed  to  have  been  very 
fine  on  the  hypothesis  that  painting  was  on  a  par 
with  sculpture  and  architecture  ;  but  such  fragments 
as  have  been  exhumed  do  not  quite  warrant  this  as- 
sumption, the  colors  being  decidedly  harsh  even  after 
centuries  of  toning  down.  The  Renaissance  even  did 
not  produce  refined  color,  except  at  Parma  with  Cor- 
reggio  and  in  its  after-climax  at  Venice.  The  Flor- 
entines, if  we  except  a  man  here  and  there  like  An- 
drea del  Sarto,  were  more  remarkable  for  line  than 
for  color.  The  Venetians,  wherever  or  however  they 
got  their  color-sense  I  cannot  now  stop  to  inquire, 
were  the  first  great  harmonists,  beginning  with  the 
Bellini  and  the  Vivarini,  running  on  with  Giorgione, 
Titian,  Tintoretto,  Palma  the  elder,  Bonifazio,  Paolo 
Veronese,  and  finally,  in  decay,  closing  with  Tiepolo. 
Though  the  Venetians  handled  color  in  many  differ- 
ent ways,  yet  the  general  color-characteristics  of 
the  whole  school  are  great  warmth,  brilliancy,  rich- 
ness, depth,  and  resonance.  The  earlier  painters  of 
the  school  never  showed  the  splendid  qualities  of 
Titian  and  Paolo  Veronese,  and  the  last  disciple, 
Tiepolo,  seemed  to  discard  the  deep  notes  of  color 
for  light  pale  hues.  You  will  usually  find  Tiepolo 
set  down  in  art  histoiy  and  criticism  as  a  superficial 
imitator  of  Paolo  Veronese,  but  a  study  of  his  work 
will  convince  you  that  there  has   been  a  mistake 


COLOR  73 

about  him.  His  color  is  luminous,  cloud-like,  and 
perhaps  thin  ;  but  it  is  harmonious,  and,  moreover, 
strikingly  appropriate  to  the  ceiling  frescos  for 
which  he  was  famous. 

German  and  Enghsh  art  cannot  be  said  to  have  ever 
had  a  great  colorist  at  any  time.  Some  of  the  early 
Germans  achieved  something  approximating  color  ; 
and  in  England  Mr.  Ruskin  has  made  great  claims 
for  Turner,  but  they  are  hardly  substantiated  by  the 
works  in  oil  and  water-color  of  that  artist  in  the 
National  Gallery  at  London.  Holland  and  Belgium, 
on  the  contrary,  have  produced  many  colorists  of 
varying  degrees  of  excellence.  Rembrandt,  with  his 
deep  ruby  reds  and  garnets,  his  yellows,  grays,  and 
browns,  vigorously  handled  and  splendid  in  their 
warmth  under  shadow,  was  the  great  leader  of  the 
Holland  school ;  while  Rubens,  painting  in  lighter 
keys,  and  mingling  cool,  warm,  contrasted,  comple- 
mentary, and  accordant  tones  all  together  at  times, 
was  the  leader  of  the  Flemish  school.  A  number 
of  other  painters  of  these  schools  should  be  men- 
tioned as  colorists  in  a  limited  sense,  Jan  van  der 
Meer  of  Delft,  Jan  Steen,  Brouwer,  Terburg,  de 
Hooghe. 

The  French  painters  have  always  dealt  freely  with 
color,  but  they  never  attained  much  success  with  it 
until  the  time  of  Watteau,  a  light  and  graceful 
painter,   with  not  a  little    feeling   for   harmonious 


74  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

effects.  His  contemporary,  Lancret,  and  liis  pupil 
Pater,  followed  his  methods,  and  in  a  somewhat  sim- 
ilar, though  more  conventional  vein  were  Boucher 
and  Fragonard.  Chardin,  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing colorists  in  French  art,  stands  quite  by  himself. 
Delacroix,  the  leader  of  the  Romantic  School  which 
began  to  rise  about  1825,  to  make  round  numbers, 
was  perhaps  the  leading  colorist  in  French  art. 
Contemporary  with  him  and  after  him  came  a  num- 
ber of  painters  handling  color  effectively,  like  De- 
camps and  Fromentin,  the  Orientalists  ;  Rousseau, 
Dupre,  and  Diaz,  the  landscape  painters  ;  and  Bau- 
dry  and  Millet,  the  figure  painters. 

Spanish  art  has  several  notable  colorists  in  its 
history  anterior  to  the  present  century,  chief  among 
them  being  Velasquez.  His  work  is  usually  remark- 
able for  pure  color  handled  with  great  simplicity  and 
directness.  Long  after  him,  Goya,  with  some  suc- 
cess, followed  his  methods,  and  after  Goya,  in  the 
1860's,  came  Fortuny,  a  leader  in  the  brilliant  and 
the  dazzling,  who  possessed  much  facility  and  some 
power,  but  unfortunately  died  young,  leaving  an 
incompleted  record.  Fortuny's  example  has  been 
followed  by  the  Spanish  school  of  to-day,  which 
claims  among  its  adherents  many  lovers  of  bright 
color,  like  Madrazo,  Villegas,  and  Rico. 

Here  in  America  we  never  had  much  art  worth 
considering  until  some  dozen  or  more  years  ago ; 


COLOR  75 

so  we  have  reason  to  be  proud  that  we  to-day 
possess  painters  like  La  Farge,  Sargent,  Dewing, 
who  are  not  inferior  iu  their  handling  of  color  to 
the  moderns  of  Europe  whom  I  have  mentioned. 


LECTUEE  IIL 

TONE  AND  LIGHT-AND-SHADE 

The  subject  of  Tone  follows  naturally  after  that 
of  Color.  For  it  is  intimately  connected  with  color 
and,  in  a  way,  taken  in  the  mass,  it  is  color,  or  at 
the  least  is  so  regarded  by  some  of  the  American 
painters. 

The  word  is  used  very  loosely  in  criticism  and  in 
the  studio,  as  art  words  generally  are,  and  means 
various  things  to  various  people.  To  begin  with,  in 
a  limited  sense  and  as  applied  to  single  notes,  it 
may  have  a  meaning  independent  of  color,  as  we 
say  "a  light  tone"  or  "a  dark  tone,"  referring  to 
the  quantity  of  light  or  dark  contained  in  it  regard- 
less of  tint  or  hue.  In  that  sense  we  may  speak  of 
the  light  or  dark  tones  of  a  charcoal  sketch  or  an 
etching  as  readily  as  of  the  tones  of  a  painting  in 
high  color.  Again,  the  word  is  often  coupled  with 
adjectives  that  give  it  a  positive  meaning ;  as,  for  in- 
stance, we  speak  of  a  "  cool  "  tone,  a  "  warm  "  tone, 
a  "deep"  tone,  a  "rich"  tone,  meaning  thereby 
certain  qualities  which  colors  may  possess  in  or  out 


TONE   AND    LIGHT-AND-SHADE  71 

of  a  picture.  These  meanings  of  the  word  it  will 
not  be  necessary  to  speak  of  further  because  they 
explain  themselves. 

But  tone  has  a  larger,  and,  unfortunately,  a  more 
confused  meaning  in  painting  than  mere  color  or 
light  qualities  in  single  notes.  The  word  is  also 
applied  to  a  picture  as  a  whole,  and,  so  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  it  is  used  in  three  different  senses  in  cer- 
tainly three  different  countries,  though  I  would  not 
be  understood  as  saying  that  all  the  painters  in  any 
one  of  the  countries  to  be  mentioned  agree  in  one 
understanding  of  tone. 

1.  It  seems  that  here  in  the  United  States  some 
of  the  painters,  especially  the  younger  men,  regard 
tone  as  the  prevailing  color  or  intensity  of  a  picture, 
as  we  say  the  tone  of  a  landscape  is  gray,  that  of  an 
interior  piece  is  red,  that  of  a  still-life  yellow.  Not 
that  each  note  in  these  instances  should  of  necessity 
be  gray,  red,  or  yellow,  but  that  the  general  color 
scheme  should  be  tinctured  by  on»3  of  these  hues 
sufficiently  to  reflect  it  throughout  the  whole  piece. 
We  may  call  this  color-tone. 

2.  In  England  the  older  painters  understand  by 
tone  the  proper  diffusion  of  light  as  it  affects  the 
intensities  of  the  diti'erent  objects  in  a  picture  ;  and 
the  right  relation  of  objects  or  colors  in  shadow  to 
the  parts  of  them  not  in  shadow  and  to  the  princi- 
pal light.     Tliis  to  me  is  largely  a  matter  of  value 


78  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

(French,  valeur,  a  word  for  which  the  English  some- 
times  substitute  "keeping");  but  inasmuch  as  it 
is  useless  to  dispute  about  the  terms  that  people 
choose  to  use,  we  must  accept  that  of  the  English 
painters.     Let  us  call  this  light-tone. 

3.  In  France  there  is  a  third  meaning  given  to 
tone,  and,  of  course,  every  young  student  at  Julian's 
or  the  Beaux  Arts  will  assure  you  that  it  is  the 
right  one  and  the  only  one.  This  French  mean- 
ing, which  is  not  universally  accepted  even  in  Paris, 
regards  tone  as  the  enveloppe — the  whole  setting 
and  atmospheric  make-up  of  a  picture,  wherein,  if 
correctly  rendered,  all  objects,  lights,  and  colors  take 
their  proper  places.  This  I  should  say  was  a  mixt- 
ure of  aerial  perspective  and  value  again.  For  of 
late  years  that  word  "  value  "  seems  to  be  a  studio 
phrase  for  almost  everything  that  has  to  do  with 
the  relationships  of  air,  light-and-shade,  and  color. 
Nevertheless,  let  us  refer  to  this  as  envelope-tone. 

Aside  from  these  understandings  of  tone  you  will 
find  a  beautiful  haziness  of  thought  and  indefinite- 
ness  of  meaning  in  the  use  of  the  word  among  all 
classes  and  nationalities  of  painters.  In  fact,  it  is 
a  convenient  term  often  lugged  in  by  the  ears  to  fill 
up  a  mental  vacuum  or  round  a  sentence,  and,  as  a 
result,  there  is  a  confusion  which  people  sometimes 
think  to  clear  up  by  arbitrary  insistence  upon  their 
own  understanding  of  the  word.  Let  us  try  to  avoi4 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  79 

that  at  the  least,  though  inconsistency  be  the  re- 
sult. 

Kegarded  in  the  American  sense  for  its  color  alone, 
as  we  shall  fii-st  regard  it,  tone  argues  to  a  certain 
extent  uniformity,  and  perhaps  similarity.  There 
must  be  one  well-defined  hue  of  color  so  strong  in 
quantity  as  to  preponderate  over  all  the  others  and 
give  a  distinct  character  to  the  whole.  It  is  no  mat- 
ter if  the  color  be  high  or  low,  provided  it  be  domi- 
nant ;  but  the  parcelling  out  of  a  given  space  to 
many  hues  will  not  answer.  Hence  the  dress  of  our 
childhood's  friend,  the  harlequin,  with  its  fantastic 
and  checkered  colors  can  hardly  be  looked  upon  as 
a  revelation  of  color-tone  ;  while  the  dress  of  his 
companion,  the  fairy,  in  its  flufify  confusion  of  pink 
gauze,  pink  bows,  pink  stockings,  pink  slippers,  is 
quite  the  reverse.  The  gray  day  upon  the  Jersey 
marshes,  which  was  spoken  of  in  my  last  lecture, 
will  illustrate  simple  color-tone  even  better  than  the 
dress  of  the  fairy.  Smoke,  sky,  air,  trees,  water, 
foreground,  and  distance  appear  tinged  with  one 
hue  as  though  the  gray  night-mists  in  departing  had 
left  their  coloring  on  the  things  they  had  touched. 
Tlie  predominant  note  is  apparent  at  once,  and  if 
such  a  scene  were  painted  upon  canvas  it  would 
propei'ly  be  ranked  as  a  gray-toned  or  a  low-toned 
picture.  The  critics,  if  they  spoke  of  it  at  all,  might 
add  that  it  was  "  good  in  tone,"  perhaps  meaning 


80  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

thereby  that  the  predominance  of  the  one  color  waa 
well  maintained,  and  that  each  note  of  the  color- 
gamut  was  in  the  proper  key. 

The  similarity  of  tone  in  color  to  tone  in  music 
offers  one  way  of  illustrating  a  meaning  rather  dij6&- 
cult  of  explanation.  Should  you  ask  a  young  Amer- 
ican painter  what  he  means  by  the  word,  he  might 
say  to  you  that  a  true  or  a  false  tone  in  a  painting  is 
the  exact  counterpart  of  a  true  or  a  false  note  in  a 
piece  of  music.  The  analogy  certainly  seems  quite 
perfect.  The  color  scheme  of  a  picture,  to  be  in 
tone,  must  be  keyed  to  a  certain  pitch  of  color,  and 
all  the  notes  must  harmonize  with  that  pitch.  If  in 
a  piece  of  music  written  in  two  sharps,  notes  be 
accidentally  introduced  belonging  to  the  key  of  four 
fiats,  discord  would  be  the  immediate  result.  The 
musical  flow  would  be  broken  by  the  introduction 
of  alien  sounds  destructive  to  the  melody.  So  if 
one  paint  such  an  Oriental  scene  as  a  Rose  Festival, 
with  the  purpose  of  obtaining  color-tonality,  the 
whole  piece  should  be  keyed  to  the  color  of  rose. 
The  dresses  of  the  women,  the  coloring  of  their  hair 
and  cheeks,  the  roses,  the  wall-hangings,  the  lounges 
and  rugs  must  all  be  flushed  with  pink,  so  that  if 
the  canvas  were  placed  on  a  revolving  pin  and 
whirled  rapidly  around,  the  coloring  would  blend 
into  a  uniform  rose  tint.  Break  this  tint  by,  say, 
several  large  quantities  of  purple  or  blue,   imme- 


VIII.-RAFFAELLI.   On  the    Seine. 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  81 

diately  there  is  a  clash,  and  color-tone  exists  no 
more. 

The  one  tint  or  hue  must  prevail,  yet  this  does 
not  argue  that  all  other  hues  are  to  be  rigidly  ex- 
cluded. Flats  are  introduced  into  the  musical  key 
of  four  sharps  without  an  unpleasant  sensation,  but 
they  do  not  occur  often,  nor  are  they  more  than 
half-notes  when  they  do  occur.  So  in  the  gray  land- 
scape it  will  not  jar  to  have  a  red  chimney  on  a 
house,  and  a  small  patch  of  blue  in  the  sky ;  nor 
will  a  tache  of  green  or  3'ellow  mar  the  color-tonality 
o''  the  Eose  Festival,  because  such  touches  are  but 
partial  notes.  But  give  up  half  the  picture  to  one 
color,  and  half  to  another  color,  or  even  encroach 
upon  the  predominant  hue  by  so  much  as  one-third 
or  one-fourth  of  another  hue,  and  perfect  color- 
tonality  is  gone. 

You  may  often  see  good  instances  of  color-tone 
among  the  woven  fabrics  and  eml)roideries  of  the 
East,  which  are  bjing  brought  in  abundance  to  our 
country  at  the  present  time.  The  ground  of  these 
stuffs  is  generally  of  one  tint,  and  upon  tliis  ground 
are  often  woven  many  other  tints  in  various  figures 
and  patterns.  But  it  will  be  noticed  that  these  fig- 
ures and  patterns  are  generally  small  and  unpretend- 
ing, and  that  their  combined  color-effect,  whether 
opposed  or  similar,  does  not  equal  one-fifth  of  the 
dominating  power  of  the  ground  upon  which  they 
6 


82  AET   FOR   art's    SAKE 

are  iDlaced.  If  we  stand  back  at  so  great  a  distance 
that  the  patterns  cannot  be  seen,  the  color-tone  of 
the  ground  will  be  still  plainly  visible,  and  the  whole 
will  appear  as  one  uniform  coloring.  This  may  be 
seen  again  in  the  closely  woven  Daghestan  rugs,  in 
the  Spanish  enamelled  leathers,  and  in  the  finer 
pieces  of  Japanese  lacquer- work.  The  work  may  be 
relieved  or  heightened  by  touches  of  sympathetic 
or  even  contrasted  color  here  and  there,  but  the 
general  complexion  of  the  whole  should  be  pro- 
nounced and  positive. 

This  phase  of  tone,  regarding  it  for  color  only, 
which  I  have  been  trying  to  illustrate — and  it  is  very 
hard  work,  I  assure  you,  for  the  proper  illustration 
belongs  to  art,  not  to  literature,  and  should  be  seen 
by  the  eye,  not  told  to  the  ear — this  phase  of  tone 
will  be  associated  in  your  minds  with  one  tone, 
or  decorative  tone.  But  it  is  not  quite  monotone. 
Neither  the  rug  nor  the  embroidery  is  like  a  roll 
of  cartridge  -  paper  or  a  peach  -  blow  vase.  The 
monotony  of  the  one  tint  in  the  ground  is  broken 
by  many  other  tints,  which,  though  perhaps  of  the 
same  family,  and  in  symj^athy  with  the  chief  tint, 
are  nevertheless  somewhat  different.  This  difference 
is  still  more  marked  in  color-tone  pictures,  where 
very  often  there  are  no  two  colors  of  exactly  the 
same  hue,  not  even  in  the  ground  of  the  picture  ; 
but  all   the  tints  will  be  found  of  the  same  com^ 


TONE   AND    LIGHT- AND-SHADE  83 

plexioD,  and  tending  toward  a  common-color  goal. 
However,  it  may  be  admitted  that  perfect  color-tone 
approximates  monotone  without  entirely  paralleling 
it.  To  please  by  uniformity  of  coloring  is  certainly 
its  object.  Perhaps  the  pictm-es  of  Puvis  de  Cha- 
vannes  (Fig.  3),  Cazin,  and  others  are  as  good  illus- 
trations of  color-tone  as  may  be  offered. 

Between  the  American  and  the  English  meaning 
of  tone  there  is  some  difference,  though  possibly  it 
is  largely  a  difference  in  terms  or  a  confusion  of 
cause  and  effect.  Mr.  Ruskin,  in  his  3Iodern  Paint- 
ers, gives  as  his  primary  understanding  of  tone  the 
right  relations  of  objects  to  each  other  as  regards 
their  substance  and  shadow.  This  "right  relation  " 
is  largely  brought  about  by  the  proper  distribution 
of  light,  or  the  giving  (aiiproxiinately)  to  each  ob- 
ject or  color  that  quantity  of  light  or  dark  which  it 
would  receive  in  nature.  In  actual  landscape  this 
distribution  of  light  frequently  produces  a  soften- 
ing, a  mellowing,  or  a  "  toning-down  "  effect,  and 
that  effect,  showing,  as  it  often  does,  in  a  uniformity 
of  tint,  is  what  the  American  painter  calls  tone  ;  but 
Mr.  Ruskin  and  the  English  painters  give  the  name 
to  the  cause  instead  of  to  the  effect,  and  speak  of 
tone  (in  one  sense  at  any  rate)  as  the  distril)uti()ii  of 
light.  A  painter,  for  whose  opinion  I  have  the  most 
profound  respect,  once  explained  to  me  the  effect  of 
tone,  as  he  understood  it,  by  saying  that  "it  was 


84  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

like  looking  at  objects  through  a  great  gauze  veil — 
the  veil  in  nature  being  produced  by  sunlight  dif- 
fused through  atmosphere  which  '  tones '  in  a  uni- 
form light  all  the  objects  seen."  The  illustration 
was  not  Avithout  its  truth.  We  see  the  same  ef- 
fect actually  rendered  by  artists  in  their  so-called 
"  artists'  tableaux,"  in  which  a  picture  by  some  fa- 
mous master  is  reproduced  by  placing  living  models 
in  the  setting  of  a  large  picture-frame  over  the  front 
of  which  a  transparent  gauze  is  stretched.  The 
gauze  is  placed  there  to  give  an  eflfect  of  tone.  Seen 
through  it  the  figures  back  of  it  appear  tinged  or 
touched  or  modified  by  a  harmonizing  element  re- 
sembling light  and  atmosphere. 

We  see  this  same  transparent  veiling  in  nature  at 
every  turn.  The  Jersey-marsh  scene  shows  it.  The 
landscape  itself  is  rather  sombre  in  coloriug,  but  it 
is  largely  the  diffusion  of  broken  light  that  pro- 
duces  the  gray  atmospheric  efifect  of  the  whole.  It 
changes  and  subdiies  by  its  touch,  and  no  matter 
what  local  colors  there  may  be  in  the  trees,  the 
houses,  or  the  grasses,  the  gray  will  tinge  them  all. 
The  light  of  early  morning  and  twilight  may  like- 
wise produce  color-tone  effects,  the  half-light  sil- 
vering everything  until  the  whole  scene  presents  a 
uniformity  of  complexion  such  as  we  have  often  ob- 
served in  the  landscapes  of  Corot  and  Daubigny. 
Yellow  sunlight  again,  if  properly  diffused  so  that 


TONE   AND   LIGHT- AND-SHADE  85 

every  color  in  tlie  picture  is  touched  and  modified 
by  it,  as  we  may  see  in  Millet's  "Gleaners"  (Fig,  1), 
and  in  some  of  the  landscapes  of  Cuyi^ ;  or  even  3'el- 
low  lamplight  as  seen  in  the  interiors  of  the  Dutch 
painters  and  some  of  the  moderns  like  Besnard  and 
Ki'uyer,  may  either  of  them  produce  a  color-tone 
effect.  Such  lights  as  these  furnish  us  with  tone  in 
both  oui'  own  and  the  English  sense  ;  but  color- 
tone  (the  American  sense)  in  full  clear  sunlight  is 
hardly  a  possibility.  Under  the  direct  rays  of  the 
sun  every  color  may  jump  to  its  highest  pitch,  and, 
by  comparison,  evei'y  shadow  may  sink  to  its  lowest 
depth.  There  is  contrast  rather  than  uniformity,  and 
just  here  is  the  American  point  of  departure  from 
the  English  meaning.  For  the  proper  diffusion  of 
sunlight,  regardless  of  any  uniformity  of  tint  or  hue, 
and  the  maintenance  of  each  shadow  in  proper  re- 
lation to  the  chief  light  make  up  one,  perhaps  the 
principal,  English  meaning  of  tone — make  up  light- 
tone.  In  a  landscape,  for  instance,  a  white  house, 
one-half  of  which  is  in  shadow  and  one-half  in  light, 
must  not  only  show  in  itself  the  properly  related 
tones  or  qualities  of  white  under  light  and  white 
under  shadow,  but  its  light  and  its  shadow  must  be 
pitched  in  relationship  to  every  other  light  and 
shadow  in  the  scene  ;  and  all  the  lights  and  shad- 
ows must  pay  a  relative  allegiance  to  tlie  highest 
light,  whatever  that  may  be     sky,  water,  or  snow- 


86  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

clad  mountain  -  top.  If  this  perfect  relationship 
were  sbown  in  every  object  and  in  every  light  and 
shade  throughout  the  whole  scene  the  result  would 
be  a  sense  or  feeling  that  everything  in  view  was 
illumined  by  one  kind  of  light  and  in  one  atmos- 
phere ;  and  that  would  be  what  an  Englishman 
might  call  "  good  tone  "  (light-tone),  though  it  might 
not  reveal  that  uniformity  of  hue  which  an  Ameri- 
can might  call  "good  tone  "  (color-tone). 

There  is  another,  or  rather  an  accompanying  mean- 
ing of  tone,  from  the  English  point  of  view,  which 
deals  with  color  and  which  requires  a  moment's  con- 
sideration. This  is  the  second  feature  of  tone  as  laid 
down  by  Mr.  Ruskin,  and  its  successful  treatment 
requires  the  painting  of  a  given  color  in  different 
intensities  of  light,  showing  the  different  intensities, 
but  still  maintaining  the  original  quality  of  the  color. 
It  is  not  an  easy  thing  for  the  painter  to  do.  A  red 
cloth,  one  part  of  which  is  in  sunlight  and  one  part 
in  shadow,  i-emains  unchanged  in  its  quality  though 
changed  in  its  shades.  We  instinctively  feel  that  it 
is  one  and  the  same  cloth  under  different  intensities 
of  light.  But  to  paint  it  that  way,  to  give  the  inten- 
sities yet  preserve  the  quality,  that  is  not  easy  of 
accomplishment.  It  requires  a  well-trained  eye  to 
see,  in  the  first  place,  and  a  well-trained  hand  to  re- 
cord, in  the  second  place.  Trickery,  chic,  and  stu- 
dio receipts  are  of  little  avail.     The  artists  have  a 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  87 

maxim,  "  Paint  it  as  you  see  it,"  which  is  whole- 
some advice  indeed,  but  in  this  case  rather  difficult 
to  follow.  Some  try  to  evade  this  direct  method  by 
scumblings  or  glazings,  with  the  idea  of  putting  in 
the  shadow  over  the  original  hue,  but  I  believe  the 
success  of  this  at  the  present  time  is  often  ques- 
tioned. 

Whatsoever  the  artist's  method,  or  howsoever  dif- 
ficult the  problem  may  be  of  accomplishment,  there 
can  be  no  question  about  the  necessity  of  a  colored 
object  showing  light-and-shade  the  same  as  one  de- 
void of  color,  and  that,  too,  without  wrecking  local 
character  or  hue.  To  be  sure  there  have  been  some 
remarkable  exceptions  to  such  a  rule.  The  paint- 
er's law  of  preserving  color-quality  in  light  and  in 
shadow  has  been  broken  again  and  again  by  geniuses 
who  have  made  laws  unto  themselves,  but  in  our 
count  we  cannot  reckon  with  such  cases.  Rem- 
brandt is  un  excellent  example  of  the  law-breaker. 
While  painting  perhaps  the  most  penetrating  lights 
and  the  most  luminous  shadows  ever  placed  upon 
canvas,  he  nevertheless  distorted  them  both  for  pur- 
poses of  efitect  by  sacrificing  color  in  the  most  mer- 
ciless manner.  He  did  this  continually,  kneading 
colors  under  shadow  into  grays  and  browns,  and 
under  light  pitching  them  in  abnormally  high  keys. 
The  efTect  was  powerful,  if  "forced,"  and,  of  course, 
permissible  in  the  hands  of  genius. 


88  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

The  Florentines  and  the  Romans  worked  in  a 
similar  though  less  violent  manner.  Thus  you  will 
frequently  see  in  the  pictures  of  Raphael,  Giulio 
Romano,  and  the  Bolognese  painters  that  a  red  or  a 
blue  robe  in  full  light,  where  stretched  across  the 
arm  or  the  leg,  will  be  bleached  or  faded  out  nearly 
to  a  white  ;  while  in  shadow,  as  where  it  falls  in 
folds,  the  same  robe  will  be  pitched  down  many 
degrees  until  it  is  nearly  black,  and  of  an  entirely 
different  quality.  Whatever  their  object  in  doing 
this  (it  was  probably  to  gain  relief)  it  did  not  pro- 
ceed from  ignorance,  for  they  did  not  always  do  it. 
Nevertheless  it  was  a  falsification  of  nature  and  de- 
structive of  luminosity  in  shadow,  of  quality,  of  local 
color.  The  pictures  of  the  Venetians,  Titian  and 
Paolo  Veronese,  where  not  only  the  shadows  are 
warm  and  deep,  but  the  colors  under  them  are 
given  their  proper  qualities,  show  much  truer  and 
better  work. 

This  secondary  meaning  of  light-tone  will  be  un- 
derstood better  perhaps  if  we  again  call  up  to  mind 
the  landscape  with  the  white  house,  only  changing 
the  color  of  the  house  from  white  to  red.  If  it 
be  still  half  in  shadow  and  half  in  light,  it  must 
be  apparent  that  there  will  be  two  very  different 
intensities  of  red,  but  only  one  quality  of  it.  In 
other  words,  it  would  be  a  peculiar  kind  of  red,  no 
matter  whether  in  shadow  or  out  of  it ;  and  to  paint 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  89 

it  with  the  two  intensities  and  only  one  quality, 
showing  it  a  matter  of  varying  illumination  and  not 
diiference  in  hue,  would  be  realizing  tone  in  this 
last  meaning  of  the  word.  Furthermore,  for  the 
light-tone  of  the  whole  picture  this  shadowed  red 
should  be  exactly  related  to  all  the  other  shadowed 
colors  of  the  scene  and  to  the  highest  color,  pre- 
cisely as  the  house  when  white  was  related  in  its 
shade  to  all  the  other  shades  in  the  scene  and  to  the 
highest  light. 

Finally,  then,  and  by  way  of  recapitulation,  the 
English  view  of  tone  concerns  itself,  first,  with  the 
effect  of  light  on  lights  and  darks  and  their  relations, 
and  secondly,  with  the  effect  of  light  on  colors  and 
their  relations.  The  American  view  concerns  itself 
with  the  prevailing  quantity  of  hue  or  tint  which 
may,  and  often  does,  arise  from  effects  of  light-distri- 
bution. For  the  French  view,  which  considers  tone 
as  the  enveloppe,  it  is  so  close  of  kin  to  what  I  shall 
speak  of  under  aerial  perspective  and  values,  that 
for  the  present  it  may  be  passed  by.* 

The  ujaking  of  color-tone  a  picture  motive  is  of 
modern  origin.    For  though  some  of  the  pictures  of 

*  None  of  tliese  meanings  of  tone  is  exclusively  confined 
to  the  conntry  indicated.  The  assignment  is  perhaps  gener- 
ally true,  but  is  serviceable  only  as  emphasizing  the  differ- 
ent meanings  of  tone.  Many  painters  in  America  have  the 
French  idea  of  tone,  and  some  in  France  entertain  the  Eag- 
lish  idea,  and  some  in  England  the  French  idea. 


90  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

the  ancients  are  not  without  good  light-tone  effects, 
yet  that  color-tone  Avas  especially  sought  for  by 
them,  or  that  much  importance  was  attached  to  it, 
may  well  be  doubted.  Formerly  the  painter  was 
scheduled  in  his  profession  as  either  a  draughtsman 
or  a  colorist ;  now  he  may  be  a  texture-painter,  a 
chiaroscurist,  a  luminarist,  a  tonalist,  or  what  he 
pleases.  For  art  like  the  other  professions  has,  in 
the  present  centiuy,  been  split  up  into  many  sec- 
tions, and  the  place  of  the  painter  strong  in  all  de- 
partments is  being  occupied  b^'  the  specialist  skil- 
ful in  one  thing  alone.  There  is  no  reason  why 
color-tone  should  not  be  chosen  as  a  painter's  mo- 
tive, for  it  is  a  charming,  if  not  a  startliug,  qual- 
ity of  art.  It  pleases  by  a  subdued,  yet  pervading 
beauty,  as  does  the  blue  of  a  clear  sky,  the  sea-green 
of  the  ocean,  the  sound  of  an  ^ZEolian  harp,  or  the 
stir  of  the  night-winds  through  the  trees.  It  nei- 
ther violently  vibrates  nor  wearies  the  nerves  of  the 
eye,  but  is  restful,  good  to  live  with,  cheering  at 
times,  and  soothing  always.  Its  accompanying  feat- 
ures in  painting,  such  as  atmosphere,  soft  broken 
light,  and  values,  are,  moreover,  unfailing  excellences 
of  art,  full  of  subtile  problems  of  technic  and  deli- 
cate gradations  of  color  which  continually  unfold 
new  pleasures  to  us  the  more  we  study  them.  True 
enough  it  is  not  fitted  by  its  nature  to  present  us 
with  those  ideas  of  a  literary  or  an  historical  kind 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  91 

which  some  people  seem  to  thiuk  the  chief  aim  of  art. 
But  then,  perhaps,  it  would  be  as  well  for  us  if  we 
should  know  less  about  the  triumphs  of  Scipio  dead 
and  gone,  and  more  about  the  triumphs  of  nature 
as  she  passes  before  us  day  after  day,  robed  in  such 
garments  as  never  monarch  wore,  and  accompanied 
by  such  a  procession  of  changing  beauties  as  never 
conqueror  knew. 

Light-and-Shade. — Night  and  day,  light  and  dark, 
sun  and  shade  are  opposing  forces.  Antitheti- 
cal, they  counteract  and  restrain  each  other  ;  com- 
plementary, they  emphasize  and  relieve  each  other. 
Each  shade  is  a  light  to  a  darker  shade  ;  each  light 
is  a  shade  to  a  higher  light.  A  gray  is  a  light  to  a 
brown  ;  an  orange  is  a  shadow  to  a  yellow.  Each 
acts  as  a  foil  for  the  other,  and  by  the  continual 
play  of  change  and  interchange  are  we  enabled  to 
distinguish  in  space  the  things  of  the  visible  world 
about  us.  Without  shade  all  things  would  be  Hat 
and  formless  ;  a  cock  of  hay  would  be  no  thicker 
than  a  knife-blade,  a  forest  would  be  merely  a  thin 
silhouette  against  the  sky.  "Without  light  not  only 
the  problem  of  painting,  but  the  problem  of  life  it- 
self would  be  a  great  deal  more  perplexing  than 
we  at  present  find  it. 

Light-and-shade,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  called, 
chiaroscuro,  is  in  piiiiiliiig  a  means  whereby  objects 


Q2  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

are  cast  in  relief  upon  flat  surface  and  made  to  as- 
sume  the  appearance  of  reality.  It  is,  of  course,  of 
great  importance,  and  one  can  hardly  imagine  how 
painting  could  exist  without  it  except  as  decoration, 
or  in  those  crude  forms  which  mark  the  picture- 
writings  of  the  barbarous  tribes  and  the  early  civili- 
zations. The  Egj'ptian  and  the  Assyrian  wall-paint- 
ings, and  many  of  the  mediaeval  paintings  of  Italy 
are  quite  devoid  of  it,  and  in  them  we  recognize  its 
necessity  by  its  absence.  For  though  modern  paint- 
ing is  not  an  imitation  of  nature,  yet  it  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  it  seen  from  an  individual  point  of  view  ; 
and  no  individual  has  ever  been  able  to  see  nature 
in  any  form  except  by  the  means  of  light-and-shade. 
The  smallest  objects  about  us  possess  it,  a  grain  of 
sand  as  well  as  a  mountain,  a  match  or  a  pencil  as 
well  as  a  forest  of  hemlocks.  It  needs  no  argument 
to  prove  this.  An  object,  no  matter  what,  receiving 
light  upon  one  side  of  it  rejects,  absorbs,  or  ob- 
structs the  light,  and  thus  produces  shadow  on  its 
opposite  side.  An  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  the  earth 
in  its  changes  from  day  to  night  are  simply  large 
illustrations  of  the  truth. 

But  while  light-and-shade  enters  into  the  rela- 
tions of  everything  in  the  visible  world  its  presence 
in  small  quantities  is  little  noted  by  us,  perhaps  for 
the  very  reason  that  it  is  so  common.  A  tree  is 
simply  green  to  us,  and    stands   against  its  back- 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  93 

ground  somewhat  like  a  palm-leaf  fan  against  a 
wall ;  we  do  not  always  notice  the  yellow-greens, 
the  emerald-greens,  and  the  dark-greens,  scattered 
through  it,  that  give  it  diversity,  depth,  roundness, 
volume.  A  human  face  is  known  to  us  by  its  feat- 
ures or  lines ;  we  seldom  see  its  lights  and  shades 
— the  high  lights  on  the  nose,  cheek,  chin,  and  fore- 
head ;  the  deep  shadows  under  the  nose,  under  the 
chin,  and  around  the  sides  of  the  throat.  A  water- 
bottle  never  strikes  us  as  being  in  anyway  marked 
by  light-and-shade,  yet  there  is  always  a  line  of 
white  light  running  up  and  down  or  across  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  direction  from  which  the  light  comes. 
If  this  water-bottle  were  of  iridescent  glass  w^e  should 
notice  the  line  of  light  instantly  because  it  would  be 
colored,  just  as  we  should  notice  the  changing  hues 
of  an  opal  upon  our  hand  ;  but  these  objects  in  real- 
ity possess  no  more  light-and  shade  than  an  ordi- 
nary glass  or  an  ivory  button.  The  light  is  simply 
more  apparent  because  it  is  colored  ;  it  is  not  more 
real. 

Every  visible  tangible  thing  has  its  relief  by  con- 
trasts of  light  with  shade,  and  if,  as  I  have  intimated, 
we  do  not  always  see  them,  it  is  because  we  are  not 
shrewd  observers  of  the  phenomenon  of  light,  com- 
mon though  it  be.  A  few  days  ago  I  was  trying  to 
point  out  to  a  school-boy  tlie  lights  and  shades  on  a 
polished  copper  tankard  which  he  was  endeavoring 


94  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

to  draw  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  He  protested  that  he 
could  not  see  them.  The  prevailing  copper  color  of 
the  tankard  had  blinded  him  to  the  shadow  grada- 
tions. We  are  all  more  or  less  like  him  in  short- 
sightedness. Our  observation  is  not  keen  enough 
to  note  the  delicate  transitions  that  nature  makes. 
And  so  we  draw  upon  all  the  resources  of  the  earth 
to  provide  ourselves  with  great  artificial  eyes  where- 
with to  see  the  light  of  some  distant  world,  and  yet 
we  cannot  see  the  light  on  the  j^etal  of  a  buttercup 
growing  beneath  our  window.  It  is  well  that  the 
artist  lives  to  point  out  to  us  these  minor  beauties 
that  exist  in  the  world  about  us. 

The  necessities  of  good  art  require  that  every 
object  which  is  of  sufficient  importance  to  have  light 
must  also  be  accounted  of  sufficient  importance  to 
have  its  proper  amount  of  shade.  I  say  "proper 
amount "  because  there  is  no  rule  elastic  enough  to 
cover  all  objects  in  nature  and  state  what  that 
amount  should  be.  An  apple  needs  more  shade  than 
a  book,  a .  book  more  than  a  flat  sheet  of  paper, 
and  so  on  through  a  thousand  variations  in  the  rel- 
ative quantities  of  light  and  of  shade  dependent 
upon  the  objects  reflecting  them.  The  eye  alone 
can  say  what  is  an  adequate  or  proper  balance. 

As  for  the  transition  from  the  highest  light  to  the 
deepest  dark,  it  should  usually  be  made  by  delicate 
gradations.     "As  smoke  loses  itself  in  the  air,  so 


TONE   AND   LTGHT-AND-SIIADE  96 

are  your  lights  and  shadows  to  pass  from  one  to  the 
other  without  any  apparent  separation,"  says  Leon- 
ardo, and  his  "  sfumato  "  is  the  pictorial  illustration 
of  his  teaching  (Fig.  4).  The  violent  change  will 
not  do  as  a  rule,  for  nature  is  not  violent,  excej^t  oc- 
casionally and  in  small  masses  at  that.  A  rift  of 
sunlight  sometimes  falls  through  a  chink  of  a  wall 
and  makes  a  thread  of  silver  in  a  dungeon's  gloom, 
and  often  the  shadow  of  a  hollow  rock,  the  sunlight 
on  a  window'-pane,  make  sharp  contrasts  of  light 
with  shade  ;  but  the  sharpness  is  specially  not  gen- 
erally true  of  nature.  To  be  sure  the  very  subtile 
transition  which  Leonardo  recommends,  occasionally 
results  in  wooliness  of  textures  ;  bvit,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  sharp  contrast  which  some  of  the  painters 
use  to-day  more  often  results  in  hardness  of  line  and 
absence  of  atmosphere.  There  is  a  middle  ground 
upon  which  good  art  may  stand,  and  if  there  be  any 
leaning  to  the  one  side  or  the  other  it  should  be  in 
favor  of  delicate  gradation.  The  violent  may  prove 
strong  in  the  hands  of  genius,  but  in  the  hands  of 
the  ordinary  painter  it  shows  only  a  pretentious 
weakness. 

The  pilch  of  light  may  be  regarded  as  not  of  vital 
importance  provided  it  be  balanced  with  a  proi:)or- 
tionate  pitch  of  shadow.  It  is  not  natures  heights 
or  depths  that  the  painter  may  reproduce,  but  only 
her   projDortions.       No    ingment,  however  bnlliant 


96  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

could  possibly  reach  +he  brightness  of  sunlight,  nor 
was  there  ever  a  night  scene  painted  that  closely  ap- 
proached the  depth  of  the  night  shadows  ;  but  the 
proportioning  of  the  lights  to  the  shadows  will  give 
us  the  effect,  if  not  the  extent,  of  either  scene. 
When  a  singer  cannot  reach  certain  notes  in  the 
musical  scale  he  adjusts  the  difficulty  by  transpos- 
ing the  scale  yet  retaining  the  relationship.  The 
painter  produces  the  effect  of  great  brightness  or 
darkness  in  a  similar  manner. 

Proportion  and  gradation,  then,  form  the  great 
law  of  light-and-shade  to  which  a  picture  must  pay 
deference  not  only  in  its  individual  objects  but  as  a 
whole.  For  when  light-and-shade  is  considered  as 
it  affects  the  whole  picture,  it  becomes  not  less  like 
chiaroscuro  but  more  like  composition.  That  is  to 
say,  its  arrangement  rules  the  composition  of  the 
picture  to  a  certain  extent.  Thus  in  a  landscape 
the  relief  of  each  object  by  its  light  and  its  shade 
may  not  be  sufficient  in  itself  to  render  the  picture 
attractive  and  pleasing,  though  it  may  be  absolutely 
true  to  nature  and  realistic  enough  for  an  exclama- 
tion point.  A  stretch  of  desert  in  sunlight,  with 
never  a  tree  nor  mound  nor  building  to  cast  a 
shadow,  may  be  nature  itself ;  but  if  we  should  look 
upon  either  the  original,  or  its  counterfeit  present- 
ment on  canvas,  we  should  be  dazzled,  and  perhaps 
annoyed,  by  its  garishness,  its  bewildering  light,  its 


IX~RAPHAEL,    TransfiguratK,,, 


TONE   AND    LIGHT-AND-SHADE  97 

monotony.  The  eye  could  find  no  relief  in  such  a 
scene,  and  necessarily  it  would  not  be  attractive. 
So  again,  if  a  green  landscape  under  sunlight  con- 
tained no  large  shadow-masses  to  balance  the  large 
masses  of  light  and  give  relief  to  the  eye,  we  might 
find  the  same  objection.  The  shadows  may  be  in- 
termixed or  in  masses,  as  the  painter  wills,  each  ob- 
ject may  have  its  light  and  cast  its  shadow  and  thus 
make  up  the  proportions  of  light  to  dark,  or  great 
belts  of  light  and  shade  may  be  thrown  along  the 
landscape  by  partly  obscuring  the  sun  with  clouds  ; 
but  however  it  is  done  it  seems  necessary  to  good 
art  that  the  aggregate  of  shade  should  be  sufficient 
to  relieve  the  mass  of  lights  and  dispel  garishness. 

The  exact  proportion  of  the  light  to  the  dark  is 
something  that  no  one  can  stereotype  in  rule. 
Some  artists  talk  of  one-sixth  deep  shadow,  two- 
sixths  light,  and  the  balance  a  large  middle  tint, 
or  they  may  give  formulas  of  a  similar  nature  cor- 
responding to  their  experience ;  but  we  would  bet- 
ter not  rely  upon  any  say-so  whatever,  other  than 
what  we  can  extract  from  the  sensitiveness  of  the 
eye.  Dannat's  fine  picture  in  the  Metropolitan 
Museum  in  New  York,  of  four  people  singing  in  a 
Spanish  cabaret,  appears  to  be  more  than  half  made 
up  of  shadow,  but  the  shadows  are  rightly  propor- 
tioned to  the  lights,  at  least  there  is  no  feeling  of 
blackness  about  them.  The  light  coming  through 
7 


98  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

a  break  in  the  lattice  is  not  large  in  volume,  but 
it  is  sufficient,  and  as  a  whole  the  pictm'e  gives  us 
a  sensation  of  pleasure.  If,  however,  in  the  same 
museum,  we  move  along  some  steps  until,  on  the 
same  wall,  we  come  before  Meissonier's  celebrated 
Napoleonic  picture  of  "Friedland,  1807,"  we  shall 
experience  a  sudden  and  a  disagreeable  change. 
The  first  picture  is  as  restful  and  refreshing  to  the 
eyes  as  a  deep  wood-interior  in  August ;  the  second 
picture  has  a  glare  and  a  flare  about  it,  a  heated 
blistering  light  that  irritates  like  a  southern  sea  at 
noonday.  Swords  and  helmets  gleam  ;  uniforms, 
men's  faces,  horses'  coats,  look  white  or  brick  red  ; 
the  sky  and  distance  are  full  of  light ;  but  there  is 
not  a  tree  nor  shrub  nor  hill  nor  house  to  cast  a 
shadow  in  which  the  eye  could  find  a  momentary 
relief  from  the  glare.  The  shadows  of  individual  ob- 
jects are  true  enough  ;  the  sword-blade,  the  check- 
rein,  the  horse  and  rider  throw  their  shadows,  but 
the  aggregate  of  them  all  is  not  sufficient  to  bal- 
ance the  power  of  the  lights.  That  which  the  pict- 
ure needs  is  relieving  masses  of  shadow,  which  the 
eye  now  seeks  for  in  vain.  In  its  present  state  it 
appears  to  have  about  ninety  per  cent,  of  light  and 
ten  per  cent,  of  shadow  ;  and,  as  a  result,  the  spec- 
tator feels  the  need  of  cobalt-blue  glasses  in  look- 
ing at  it  for  any  considerable  length  of  time. 

The  reverse  of  surplus  light  is,  of  course,  surplus 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  99 

shadow.  We  often  hear  painters  speak  of  pictures 
as  "  too  black,"  which  may  mean  that  the  whole 
pitch  of  light  is  too  low,  or  that  the  shades  alone 
are  too  dark.  The  works  of  Jacopo  Bassano  of  the 
Venetian  school,  in  their  present  condition,  are  good 
instaDces  of  extreme  shadow-depths  ;  though  it  is 
right  to  say  that  they  have  partly  become  so  by 
time,  and  were  not  originally  painted  as  they  now 
appear.  Some  of  Munkacsy's  pictures  painted  with 
bitumen  are  open  to  the  same  criticism  of  blackness, 
and  Goya's  works  are  not  always  free  from  it,  how- 
ever powerful  they  may  be  in  other  respects.  Cour- 
bet,  too,  has  at  times  given  exaggerated  strength  to 
his  shadows,  and  at  other  times  he  has  pitched  pict- 
ures so  low  in  key  as  to  make  one  think  that 
when  he  painted  them  the  sun  had  become  black 
as  sackcloth  of  hair  after  the  manner  told  in  the 
Apocalypse.  To  be  sure  this  blackness  is  not  char- 
acteristic of  fill  the  works  of  either  Goya  or  Cour- 
bet,  and  I  have  only  spoken  of  their  exceptional 
pictures  in  this  respect.  Perhaps  better  instances 
could  be  found  in  the  works  of  painters  like  Cara- 
vaggio,  Ribera,  and  Ribot.  My  use  of  the  words 
"black"  and  "blackness,"  you  will  understand  as 
being  comparative  only.  Black  is  not  a  shadow  but 
a  total  absence  of  hght.  Shadows,  in  the  majority 
of  pictures,  are  colors  of  some  sort,  having  a  certain 
amount  of  wai'nith  and  luiuinosity  to  them.     Black 


100  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

is  opaque  and  cold,  and  if  you  care  to  see  how 
different  it  is  from  a  shadow,  examine  the  black 
cloth  or  velvets  painted  by  Velasquez  or  Goya,  and 
compare  them  with  the  shadows  in  the  same  pict- 
ures. 

Gradation  of  light  or  color  from  a  fixed  centre  is 
perhaps  a  matter  of  composition  again,  but  it  may 
not  inappropriately  come  in  here,  since  the  light- 
and-shade  problem,  with  which  it  deals,  is  now  be- 
fore us.  In  the  first  place,  the  light  which  illumines 
any  sort  of  a  pictorial  composition  is  usually  brought 
from  one  point  of  the  heavens  and  made  to  prevail 
from  that  point  throughout  the  entire  piece.  Lights 
from  different  quarters  are  likely  to  be  conflicting, 
and  oftentimes  confusing,  rendering  a  task  ali'eady 
hard  enough  to  execute  doubly  difficult.  But  the 
difficulty  of  technical  problems  is  an  attraction  to 
some  artists,  so  that  while  the  great  number  of  pict- 
ures of  the  past  and  of  the  present  ma}^  be  found  to 
have  light  from  but  one  direction,  you  will  find  other 
pictures  where  the  lights  are  doubled  and  some- 
times tripled.  Thus  you  will  see  among  landscapes 
many  early  moonrise  pictures  in  which  the  twilight 
and  the  moonlight  struggle  for  the  mastery  ;  you 
will  see  pictures  of  interiors  in  which  the  light 
comes  from  opposing  windows  ;  and  3'ou  will  some- 
times see  lamplight  conflicting  with  daylight.  These 
pictures,  while  revealing  cleverness  in  the  handling 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  101 

of  the  diiferent  illuminations,  can  hardly  be  set  down 
as  any  great  improvement  on  the  handling  of  one 
light,  which,  as  I  have  said,  we  shall  find  in  the  ma- 
jority of  paintings. 

In  the  second  place,  the  light  falling  from  what- 
ever point  of  the  compass  the  painter  chooses,  is 
usuaUy  concentrated  upon  some  one  object  or  space 
in  the  picture,  and  foiTns  a  well-defined  point  of  high 
light  or  high  color,  which  is  in  effect  the  same  thing, 
I  do  not  mean  that  the  hght  is  necessarily  central- 
ized on  the  canvas.  It  may  be  placed  high  or  low, 
to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  but  wherever  placed  it 
forms  a  luniiuous  spot  from  which  gi'adation  to  op- 
posite points  of  shadow  or  deep  color  begins.  This 
centring  of  light  seems  at  first  like  a  studio  trick, 
but  nature  herself  is  guilty  of  it.  We  see  it  continu- 
ally in  the  world  about  us  as  we  see  it  in  the  works 
of  those  painters  who  have  produced  likenesses  of 
that  world.  Pieter  de  Hooghe's  concentration  of 
light  at  the  end  of  a  Dutch  passage-way,  as  in  his 
Louvre  pictui'e  ;  anyone  of  the  young-woman-with-a- 
candle  pictures  by  the  little  Dutchmen,  in  which  the 
lights  increase  toward  the  candle,  and  the  shadows 
increase  toward  tlie  extremities  of  the  room  ;  almost 
any  of  the  Oriental  court  pictures  by  Decamps  with 
sunlight  centred  on  a  wall  or  door,  are  as  illustrative 
of  nature  as  of  the  technical  principle  we  are  con- 
sidering.     "  Forced  "  they  may  be  in  a  way,  and  yet 


102  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

permissible,  because  focusing  the  eye  on  the  most 
important  part  of  the  picture. 

When  Rembrandt,  the  great  master  of  light  con- 
centration, painted  a  portrait,  the  centre  of  light 
was  the  nose,  cheeks,  and  chin  ;  the  forehead  was  a 
trifle  lower  in  tone,  or  deepened  by  the  shadow  of  a 
hat,  as  in  the  Marquand  portrait,  now  in  the  Metro- 
politan Museum ;  the  sides  of  the  cheeks  were  cor- 
respondingly lowered  ;  the  throat  and  neck  were 
very  deep  flesh  notes;  the  dress  was  usually  dark, 
or,  if  in  light  color,  it  was  so  saturated  at  times  with 
shadow  as  to  lose  much  of  its  coloring  principle  ;  the 
hands  often  came  out  in  flesh  notes  under  shadow  ; 
the  linen,  if  in  light,  was  almost  pure  white,  if  under 
shadow  subdued  ;  and  the  background  was  an  inde- 
finable depth  of  gray,  green,  or  gold-brown.  This 
manner  of  treatment  characterized  all  his  work.  In 
the  Louvre  two  small  pictures  by  him  of  philoso- 
phers or  alchemists,  or  some  such  persons,  sitting  at 
a  window  whence  floods  a  yellow  light  through  a 
dingy  room,  are  excellent  examples  of  concentration, 
and  you  may  see  other  examples  of  the  same  thing 
in  his  landscapes  (Fig.  5).  Correggio  composed  a 
picture  in  circles  with  the  light  in  the  centre,  as 
Couture  has  well  described  in  speaking  of  the  "  Anti- 
ope"  in  the  Louvre.  The  "Night,"  at  Dresden  (Fig. 
6),  and  the  "  St.  Jerome,"  at  Parma,  show  the  same 
practice.   The  example  of  Correggio  was  extensively 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  103 

followed  by  bis  successors,  especially  tbe  Caracci,  at 
Bologna.     Tbere  is  in  tbe  Sage  Library,  at  New 
Brunswick,  a  picture  of  "  Tbe  Trinity,"  by  Annibale 
Caracci,  wbieb  well  exemplifies  ligbt  concentration. 
Tbe  Fatber  is  seated  upon  clouds,  surrounded  by 
angels,  bis  bead  radiant  witb  sbafts  of  Ugbt.     Above 
bim  bovers  tbe  dove,  tbe  symbol  of  tbe  Holy  Gbost, 
and  kneeling  before  bim  tbe  Madonna  offers  tbe 
Cbild  in  arms.     Around  all  tbese  brigbtly  illumi- 
nated figures,  as  a  foil  to  tbe  ligbt,  are  spread  tbe 
deep  browns  and  greens  of  foliage.     Tbe  object  of 
tbe  picture  seems  to  bave  been  less  tbe  majestic 
conception  of  tbe  Trinity   tban   tbe  tunneUing  of 
darkness  and  tbe  wedging  of  ligbt  toward  a  centre. 
But  sucb  illustrations  as  tbese,  you  will  under- 
stand, point  to  tbe  extreme  use  of  tbe  principle  and 
were  cbosen  because  tbey  would  tbus  better  exem- 
plify tbe  meaning  of  ligbt  concentration.    In  modern 
pictures,  or  among  tbe  majority  of  pictures  of  any 
age,  you  will  not  find  tbe  practice  so  positive  or 
so  violent.      Indeed  in  some  pictures  you  may  not 
readily  recognize  a  centre  of  ligbt  at  all,  for  to-day 
diffused  ligbt  is  as  often  used  as  direct  ligbt,  and 
wbere  Claude  and  Turner  put  tbe  setting  sun  across 
the  sea  on  tbe  borizon,  and  made  a  patb  of  golden 
suuligbt  along  tbe  waves  flanked  by  Corintbian  pal- 
aces to  conduct  us  to  it,  there  ai-e  dozens  of  other 
painters,  like  Daubigny  and  Caziii,  who  bang  the 


104  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

heavens  with  an  almost  unbroken  veil,  along  the 
thin  parts  of  which  we  may  discern  the  struggling 
of  a  light,  seen  as  through  a  mist  of  early  morning. 
Still  the  general  principle  of  light  concentration  is 
correct  enough,  however  the  practice  may  vary,  and 
almost  every  artist,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
regards  it  to  some  extent  in  his  composition.  None 
of  the  best  works  of  Corot,  the  first  great  luminarist 
of  modern  times,  is  without  it.  The  high  light  in 
his  sky  was  always  painted  in  first,  and  from  that  he 
graded  down  to  the  foreground  shadows  by  the 
most  delicate  and  truthful  transitions  imaginable. 
Millet  has  almost  always  followed  the  same  principle, 
though  with  not  so  much  emphasis  as  Corot.  The 
"Sower,"  the  "Angelus,"  or  any  one  of  his  pictures 
of  workers  in  the  fields  at  twilight,  where  the  light 
comes  from  the  western  horizon  and  falls  away  into 
the  darks  of  the  middle  distance  and  foreground, 
will  serve  for  example.  The  modern  schools,  of 
which  Millet  is  no  less  a  type  because  conspicuous, 
are  filled  with  painters  whose  works  exemplify 
centred  light.  This  is  true  not  of  landscapes  alone, 
but  of  figure  compositions,  marines,  and  genre  paint- 
ings. Examine  a  still  life  by  Bonvin  or  Vollon  ;  a 
group  of  figures  by  Israels,  Meuzel,  or  Bonnat ;  an 
interior  by  Sargent,  or  a  portrait  by  Carolus  Duran, 
and  anyone  of  them  will  point  to  the  principle. 
I  know  some  of  the  young  men  rather  sneer  at 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SHADE  105 

concentration  as  savoring  of  conventional  pictui-e- 
making,  but  the  practice  because   it   is  old  is  not 
therefore  utterly  false  and  worthless.     There  is  an 
iconoclastic  spirit  rampant  to-day,  which  seeks  to 
destroy  everything  in  method  that  is  not  distinctly 
novel  and  therefore  modern ;  but  painting,  though 
it  be  an  art,  and  not  a  science,  has,  nevertheless, 
some  well  founded   principles  that  do  not  wholly 
pass  away  with  the  incoming  of  each  new  school. 
Gradation  and  concentration  are  among  these  prin- 
ciples, and  while  young  painters  may  talk  largely  of 
taking  "Nature  as  she  is,"  they  should  not  forget 
that  in  doing  so  it  is  their  duty  to  reproduce  her 
upon  canvas   as    forcibly    (approximately)    as    they 
found  her.     Do  this  with  nature's  forces  they  can- 
not, and   therefore  they  must  resort  to  the  forces 
of  art  which  may  best  substitute  those  of  nature. 
These,  as  the  examples  of  past  art  show  us,  in  re- 
gard to  light-and  shade,  are  concentration  and  gra- 
dation.    They   are    the  best   means  known  to   art 
whereby  a  strength  of  light  may  be  builded  up  and 
sustained.     Each  light  or  dark  supports  a  brother 
of  the  series  converging  toward   a  centre,   as  the 
blocks  of  stone  sustaining  the  pyramid  taper  to  an 
apex  of  a  single  block.     Light  gathers  power  from 
being  upheld  by  increasing  darks,  just  as  the  force 
that  lies  in  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  comes  from 
the  sustaining  bulk  behind  it.      In  the  const  ruction 


106  ART   FOR  ART'S   SAKE 

of  the  drama  this  wedging  process  is  well  kuown 
under  the  name  of  "  dramatic  force/'  and  is  put  to 
continuous  use.  The  whole  play  is  merely  a  series 
of  concentrations  in  what  are  called  climaxes.  The 
interest  deepens  from  scene  to  act ;  each  scene  sup- 
ports an  act,  each  act  its  successor,  until  the  grand 
climax  ends  the  piece.  It  is  the  pyramid  over  again, 
the  most  powerful  building  principle  in  the  whole 
architecture  of  the  arts.  Light  concentration  in 
painting,  equally  with  dramatic  force  in  the  drama, 
requires  the  sacrifice  of  the  accessories  to  the  prin- 
cipals, the  exaltation  of  some  by  the  humiliation  of 
others,  the  centring  of  power  upon  a  given  point  of 
light,  supported  on  the  sides  by  the  reserves  of 
shadow.  There  are  pictures,  and  good  ones  too, 
where  doubtless  this  principle  was  never  thought 
of ;  but  it  is  not  extravagant  to  say  that  probably 
two-thirds  of  all  the  pictures  of  modern  times  will 
exemplify  it  in  a  more  or  less  positive  manner. 

It  is  useless  to  deny,  however,  that  the  violent 
concentration  of  light,  such  as  we  see  in  Rembrandt 
or  Decamps,  and  even  the  moderate  concentration 
of  a  Millet  or  a  Breton,  is  fast  becoming  a  practice 
of  the  past.  It  is  fading  away  in  favor  of  "  Nature 
as  she  is,"  with  diffused  light,  high  light,  and  very 
luminous  shadows.  That  movement  in  art  which 
passes  under  the  misleading  name  of  Impressionism 
has   established   new   views   and   new    methods   of 


TONE   AND   LIGHT- AND -SHADE  107 

handling  lights  and  shadows.  True  enough  its  ex- 
ponents, men  like  Claude  Monet  and  Renoir,  ai-e 
just  now  painting  snatches  and  sketches  of  nature 
rather  than  pictures  ;  they  are  cutting  off  a  piece  of 
what  is  before  them  rather  than  composing ;  but 
even  so  they  have  proved  that  a  picture  may  exist 
and  be  a  picture  without  the  wedging  and  centring 
of  light,  and  without  the  opposition  of  strong  lights 
to  darks.  In  fact  the  impressionists,  or,  as  the  late 
ones  should  be  called,  the  luminarists,  may  be  cred- 
ited with  a  new  and  important  technical  discovery, 
one  that  is  destined  in  all  probability  to  influence 
the  entire  future  of  art.  When  painting  came  out 
of  the  Middle  Ages  the  technic  of  art  had  to  be 
learned  over  again.  Attention  was  first  directed  to 
form  ;  that  mastered,  hght-and-shade  was  developed  ; 
finally,  at  Venice,  color.  But  the  development  of 
light-and-shade  under  Leonardo,  Correggio,  Rem- 
brandt, never  was  quite  complete.  It  was  true 
enough  in  the  relations  perhaps,  but  too  low  in  the 
pitch.  The  luminarists  have  raised  the  pitch,  but  in 
doing  so  they  have  sacrificed  the  relations  somewhat. 
That  is  to  say,  nature  travels  the  whole  scale,  her 
highest  light  going  to  100,  her  deepest  black  to 
zero.  Art  with  its  pigments  cannot  possibly  regis- 
ter over,  say,  50  points.  Nature's  intensities  either 
in  black  or  white  can  only  be  approximated,  and  the 
painter  usually  represents  them  with,  sa}',  30  points. 


108  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

If  Rembrandt's  scale  ran  from  20  to  50,  Monet's 
scale  would  run  from  about  40  to  60,  the  one  repre- 
senting the  old-time  studio  light,  the  other  repre- 
senting open-air  sunlight  But  Monet's  gamut  or 
range  is  not  so  extensive  as  Rembrandt's.  It  is 
more  limited  (by  luminarist  practice)  in  depth  of 
shadow,  and  not  proportionably  extended  in  height 
of  light.  The  absolute  appearance  of  shadows  has 
been  given  by  showing  them  as  very  luminous  color- 
masses  ;  but  the  absolute  appearance  of  pure  sun- 
light has  not  been  given  (though  often  suggested) 
because  of  the  limits  of  pigment.  As  a  result  there 
is  a  gaiishuess  in  the  pictures  of  the  luminarists, 
produced  by  the  sacrifice  of  scale,  by  the  sacrifice  of 
depth  of  register  to  height  of  register,  by  the  loss 
of  the  lower  notes. 

But  it  is  not  alone  with  the  raising  of  the  general 
pitch  of  light  that  the  luminarists  must  be  credited. 
Besides  increasing  the  intensity  of  light  to  some  ex- 
tent they  have  sought  out  its  proper  diffusion,  play, 
and  color-effect  on  objects.  And  this,  too,  not  in 
sunlight  alone  but  in  all  sorts  of  light.  Beraud 
with  his  gaslight,  Besnard  with  his  starlight,  Cazin 
with  his  broken  light,  and  Monet  with  his  sunlight, 
are  all  luminarists  seeking  by  various  methods  to 
reproduce  light  effects.  Yet  sunlight  in  open-air 
painting  is  perhaps  the  chief  feature  of  tlie  mod- 
ern  movement.      And   here  in  this  open-air  study 


TONE   AND   LIGHT-AND-SIIADE  109 

some  curious  phenomena  are  disclosed  to  us.  For 
instance,  the  luminarists  tell  us  that  the  effect  of 
sunlight  upon  objects  and  colors  is  to  render  them 
transitory  and  uncertain.  Under  high  light  line  is 
dissipated,  objects  in  the  background  appear  to  pro- 
ject themselves  into  the  foreground  and  disturb  per- 
spective, the  surfaces  of  objects,  instead  of  standing 
out  in  modelled  relief,  are  flattened  into  mere  rela- 
tive tones  or  patches  of  color,  and  color  itself  is 
sometimes  changed  in  local  hue,  is  shattered  or 
bleached. 

Besides  this  they  have  laid  hold  of  some  scien- 
tific facts  which  they  have  utilized.  For  instance, 
they  know  that  a  beam  of  pure  white  hght  passing 
through  a  prism  decomposes  into  the  colors  of  the 
spectrum.  Hence  the  conclusion  that  light  is  color 
in  a  subtile  translucent  form.  The  air  on  a  bright 
day  is  consequently  filled  with  it,  and  wherever  light 
is  and  air  is  there  must  color  be  also,  tinging  every- 
thing it  touches,  making  some  objects  blue,  other  ob- 
jects violet,  and  others  again  purple  or  yellow.  To 
get  light  in  the  picture  then,  they  use  color  freely 
and  in  variety,  putting  it  on  sometimes  in  small 
broken  points  that  attempt  the  snbtility  of  nature 
herself,  and  leaving  to  the  eye  at  a  certain  distance 
the  task  of  reuniting  these  colors  into  what  should 
seem  to  us  the  original  beam  of  pure  white  light. 
Again,  they  tell   us  that  instead   of   darkening  with 


110  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

sunlight  shadows  really  lighten,  and  this  is  true 
enough,  though  the  sharp  contrast  with  the  bright 
light  makes  them  appear  darker  at  first ;  that  they 
are  not  only  a  phase  of  light  but  a  colored  phase  of 
it.  Hence  the  purples  and  violets  of  their  reflections 
and  the  absence  of  those  dark  notes  which  we  have 
always  looked  upon  as  shadows  caused  by  the  par- 
tial destruction  of  light. 

The  influence  of  this  movement  has  already  gone 
far,  and  will  undoubtedly  go  farther,  though  its  ex- 
ponents have  not  yet  pi'oduced  many  masterpieces. 
The  free  use  of  high  colors  to  obtain  the  desired 
effect  of  light  does  not  always  please  the  color 
sense,  nor  does  it  always  give  the  appearance  of 
light.  The  absence  of  decisive  quality  and  body  in 
the  shadows  gives  an  unreal,  evanescent  appearance 
to  objects  at  times  ;  the  dissipation  of  line  produces 
flabbiness  in  the  figure  ;  and  the  disturbance  of  the 
perspective  planes  often  confuses  the  whole  picture. 
There  is  an  extravagance  of  statement  just  now  even 
with  the  leaders — that  same  extravagance  which  al- 
ways attends  every  initial  movement.  In  addition, 
there  are  many  individuals  with  neither  clever  heads 
nor  clever  hands  who  are  at  present  sailing  under 
the  union-jack  of  Impressionism  or  Luminism  and 
bringing  contempt  upon  their  betters  by  their  er- 
ratic performances.  But  we  should  not  forthwith 
sondemn  the  whole  school  on  these  accounts.     Nor 


TONE   AND    LIGHT-AND-SHADE  111 

should  we  now,  nor  at  any  time,  condemn  any  school 
or  body  of  artists  because  they  do  not  see  as  we  see. 
If  all  mankind  saw  alike  what  use  would  there  be 
for  the  painter  !  It  is  just  his  business  to  see  and 
tell  us  what  we  do  not  see ;  and  if  his  vision  is  start- 
ling to  us  at  first,  the  cause  of  it  may  be  our  own 
uneducated  eyes  and  not  the  painter's  falsity  of 
view.  At  any  rate  there  is  enough  talent  in  the  so- 
called  impressionistic  brotherhood,  and  enough  nov- 
elty in  their  view  of  nature,  to  entitle  them  to  re- 
spectful consideration,  and  if  out  of  it  does  not  arise 
a  new  and  strong  school  of  landscape,  then  some 
people  must  be  credited  with  an  error  in  judgment. 


LECTURE  IV. 

LINEAR    AND    AERIAL    PERSPECTIVE 

The  word  perspective  is  familiar  to  us  all.  With 
its  meaning  we  have  had  more  or  less  experience 
which  may,  or  may  not,  be  cause  for  congratulation 
upon  our  arrival  at  a  subject  concerning  which  we 
have  some  knowledge.  The  subject  is  certainly  not 
new.  Anaxagoras  and  Democritus  wrote  geometri- 
cal treatises  upon  it  centuries  ago,  and  many  not 
unworthy  successors  have  done  so  since  their  time. 
But  with  the  geometrical  side  of  perspective  I  do 
not  purpose  to  deal,  for  the  reason  that  in  actual 
painting  it  has  not  been  usually  considered  by  the 
painters  of  the  past,  and  among  those  of  the  pres- 
ent it  is  not  even  generally  understood.  Those  of 
you  who  may  care  to  follow  up  the  study  of  this 
geometrical  side  would  better  read  Mr.  Ruskin's 
treatise  on  the  subject.  What  I  may  have  to  say 
about  the  subject  to-day  will  be  almost  entirely  from 
the  artist's  point  of  view. 

Perspective  is,  perhaps,  not  so  much  an  end  of 
painting  in  itself  as  it  is  a  means  of  obtaining  cer- 


LINEAR   AND    AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      113 

tain  effects.  As  a  means  it  is  its  object  to  show 
upon  flat  surface  the  dimensions  and  intensities  of 
objects  at  varying  distances  by  just  gradations 
of  form,  contour,  color,  and  hght.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  perspective  at  least,  and  I  am  not  sm-e  but 
that  there  should  be  three  classes  of  it,  described 
respectively  by  the  adjectives  linear,  aerial,  and 
chromatic.  But  for  our  purposes  the  second  adjec- 
tive is  expansive  enough  to  include  the  third  and 
render  the  latter  unnecessary. 

The  proper  use  in  painting  of  linear  perspective 
produces  a  lessening  in  the  size  of  objects  by  reces- 
sion, and  an  apparent  convergence  of  lines  toward  a 
given  focus,  called  technically  "  the  point  of  sight." 
It  gives  us  upon  a  small  scale  the  representation  of 
an  effect  continually  seen  in  nature.  A  glance  down 
a  long  street  reveals  this  effect  to  us  every  day  of 
our  lives.  The  rows  of  trees  and  the  buildings,  as 
the  eye  follows  the  top  line  of  them,  appear  to  run 
down  from  the  upper  sky  to  the  rim  of  the  horizon 
or  the  point  of  sight.  The  bed  of  the  street,  the 
curb-stones,  the  sidewalks  appear  to  run  up  from 
our  feet  to  this  same  point  of  sight.  Again,  it  will 
be  noticed  that  the  walls  of  the  buildings  and  the 
sides  of  the  trees  appear  not  only  to  run  down,  but 
to  run  in,  until,  if  the  street  be  very  long,  the  rows 
of  buildings,  trees,  curb-stones,  and  sidewalks  come 
to  meet  in  the  distance — the  lines  of  convergence 
8 


114  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

appearing  to  run  from  every  direction  toward  a 
horizon  centre.  Again,  these  lines  of  convergence 
compress  and  contract  all  the  objects  as  they  recede 
from  us,  and  allow  them  to  expand  as  they  approach 
us.  We  often  see  this  illustrated  at  the  railway  sta- 
tion when  looking  up  or  down  the  tracks  for  a  be- 
lated train.  As  the  train  approaches  the  station  we 
see  the  locomotive  grow  larger  and  larger  ;  as  the 
train  moves  away  the  rear  car  becomes  smaller  and 
smaller. 

The  principle  by  following  which  this  effect  is 
produced  in  art  is  not  difficult  of  comprehension. 
Imagine  the  sun  upon  the  horizon  line  shooting  out 
shafts  of  light  from  it  in  all  directions,  the  distance 
between  the  shafts  widening  of  course  with  the 
radiation  ;  place  s.  facsimile  of  this  sun — the  point 
of  sight — in  the  centre  of  a  picture-frame  so  that 
the  top,  bottom,  and  sides  of  the  frame  shall  cut 
off  the  ends  of  the  flying  shafts,  and  we  shall  then 
have  a  skeleton  of  perspective.  In  the  street  scene, 
of  which  I  spoke  a  moment  ago,  if  the  sun  were 
placed  at  the  end  of  the  sti'eet  the  lines  of  the  curb- 
stones and  sidewalks  would  follow  certain  of  these 
flying  shafts  of  light  directly  toward  the  centre  ; 
the  lines  of  the  tops  of  the  houses,  the  trees,  and  the 
telegraph-poles  would  follow  other  shafts  higher  up, 
and,  were  the  picture  specially  composed  as  a  pei-- 
spective  effect,  the  breaks  in  the  clouds  would  be 


X.— FROMENTIN,   Horses  at  Water. rg  Place. 


LINEAPw   AXD   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      115 

arraDged  ia  their  lines  to  conduct  upon  the  upper 
shafts  of  light  directly  to  the  centre  again.  Upon 
whatever  line  or  shaft  the  eye  might  fall  it  would 
inevitably  be  led  to  the  point  of  sight,  or,  as  we 
have  supposed,  the  sun  itself. 

To  be  sure  such  bits  of  nature  as  the  railway  and 
the  street  scene  do  not  arise  continually  as  exem- 
plars of  nature's  perspective  principles,  but  there  is, 
nevertheless,  a  law  of  diminution  and  convergence 
underlying  every  scene,  whether  it  be  a  positive  ex- 
ample or  not.  We  hardly  need  to  be  told  that  there 
is  no  such  thing  in  reality  as  two  parallel  lines  mn- 
ning  together,  but  to  our  eyes  they  appear  to  run 
together.  Perspective  is  in  itself  one  proof  in  many 
that  painting  represents  not  reality,  as  our  "  real- 
ists" would  have  it,  but  only  the  appearance  of  re- 
ality. It  is  merely  a  semblance  of  things  resulting 
from  the  eye's  inability  to  grasp  distant  objects  as 
they  actually  exist.  The  compensation,  however,  for 
the  inability  of  the  eye  to  see  things  in  the  distance 
in  their  real  relations  is,  that  by  seeing  them  in  per- 
spective we  gain  a  breadth  and  depth  of  view  not 
otherwise  obtainable.  We  are  enabled  to  see  not 
one  object  alone  but  many  objects,  all  held  together 
by  a  common  bond  of  unity.  This  is  true  of  the 
perspective  in  a  painting.  For  the  eye  could  not 
gi*asp,  in  either  depth  or  breadth,  the  whole  of  the 
scene  upon  canvas  were  it  not  that  by  the  lines  or 


116  AKT  FOR  AET'S   SAKE 

shafts  of  light,  of  which  I  have  spoken,  the  vision  is 
conducted  down  a  converging  path  toward  the  point 
of  sight,  which  is  usually  the  point  of  interest  as 
well.  One  object  of  linear  perspective  in  painting, 
then,  aside  from  its  giving  the  appearance  of  dis- 
tance, is  to  obtain  unity — to  enable  us  to  grasp  the 
whole  scene  at  a  glance — and  without  it  a  pict- 
ure would  be  disjointed,  and  comprehensible  only 
by  examining  one  part  of  it  at  a  time  as  we  do  the 
passing  scenes  of  a  panorama.  This  unity  by  per- 
spective may  be  seen  well  exemplified  if  standing 
in  a  room  we  look  out  through  a  pane  of  glass,  im- 
agining the  window-sash  a  picture-frame.  Miles 
in  depth  and  miles  in  width  appear  within  the 
square  of  a  few  feet ;  and  if  we  imagine  further 
that  the  landscape  is  painted  on  the  glass  instead  of 
seen  through  it,  we  shall  have  the  correct  perspec- 
tive of  a  picture. 

This  you  will  understand  is  the  general  principle 
of  perspective  that  I  am  trying  to  explain,  and  the 
illustrations  given  show  linear  perspective  in  its  sim- 
plest form  only  (Fig.  7).  It  has  its  many  complex- 
ities, involving  problems  which  are  scarcely  worth 
our  time  puzzling  over  ;  but  I  think  it  necessary  to 
say  they  exist,  that  you  may  not  think  every  picture 
which  lacks  a  diamond-point  composition,  converg- 
ing lines  of  trees,  buildings,  or  telegraph-poles,  and 
a  sun,  or  at  least  a  tunnel  of  concentrated  light  pre- 


LINEAR   AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      117 

cisely  in  the  middle  of  it,  is  therefore  bad  or  lack- 
ing in  perspective.  The  point  of  sight,  or  the  place 
where  the  sight  should  be  drawn,  is  a  matter  of 
choice  with  the  painter.  It  is  generally  near  the 
centre  of  the  piece,  as  in  Leonardo's  "Last  Supper," 
for  instance  ;  but  there  is  no  particular  reason  that  it 
should  be  so.  The  painter,  like  the  photographer, 
may  focus  his  jDicture  where  he  pleases  ;  but,  also 
like  the  photographer,  whatever  point  he  focuses 
becomes  a  centre  of  interest  from  which  the  shafts 
or  lines  radiate.  Some  of  the  Dutchmen,  like  Van 
Goyen,  Cuyp,  and  Van  de  Velde,  were  very  fond  of 
placing  the  point  of  interest  off  at  the  extreme  side, 
and  leading  up  to  it  by  long  rows  of  buildings,  the 
descending  masts  of  ships,  or  the  retiring  ranks  of 
trees  or  hills.  But  the  goal  of  interest  in  any  one 
of  their  pictures  is  generally  well  defined  and  easy 
to  discover,  no  mattter  where  placed,  because  of 
the  convergence  of  line  and  light  toward  that  spot. 
The  fly's  parlor  of  a  spider's  web  is  not  always 
placed  in  the  centre  of  a  given  space,  nor  in  the 
centre  of  the  web,  but  our  eye  naturally  seeks 
it  because  all  the  lines  of  the  web  upon  which  the 
spider  travels  lead  directly  to  it. 

The  point  of  sight  may  be  shifted  right  or  left 
provided  we  shift  our  station  point  to  correspond ; 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  raised 
up  by  a  high  horizon  line,  as  the  needs  of  tlie  fore- 


118  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

ground  and  middle  distance  may  require  (Fig.  8), 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  placed  low  down,  as  the  needs 
of  the  upper  sky  may  require,  the  visual  ray  which 
comes  to  the  eye  being  raised  or  lowered  again  to 
correspond.  There  is  nothing  very  arbitrary  about 
perspective  except  the  point  of  sight,  which  should 
be  the  loadstone  of  the  picture  to  attract  the  eye  of 
the  spectator.  As  I  have  observed,  in  speaking  of 
light-gradation,  this  point  of  sight  will  not  always 
be  so  apparent  as  in  a  Claude  or  Turner  sunset,  and 
in  many  pictures  you  will  have  some  difficulty  in 
finding  it  at  all ;  but  if  the  perspective  be  good  the 
lines,  whether  apparent  or  not,  will  converge,  and 
the  eye  will  be  led  to  some  one  point  in  the  picture 
— the  point  of  interest,  the  point  of  sight,  and  gen- 
erally the  point  of  light.  Two  notable  instances  of 
the  violation  of  this  rule  are  Raphael's  "  Transfigu- 
ration "  (Fig.  9),  and  the  large  "  Marriage  in  Cana," 
by  Paolo  Veronese,  in  each  of  which  there  are  two 
points  of  sight,  two  horizon  lines,  and  two  base 
lines.  But  this,  instead  of  being  a  virtue  of  the 
pictures  is  perhaps  a  fault,  because  of  the  confusion 
brought  about  by  conflicting  points  of  interest.  In 
the  jDresence  of  such  a  dual  comj^osition  the  eye  is 
embarrassed  by  riches,  and  like  the  historic  donkey 
of  Buridan,  it  starves  between  two  measures  of  oats. 
The  effect  of  linear  perspective  upon  objects  is  that 
as  they  recede  from  us  they  appear  to  decrease  in 


LINEAR  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      119 

size  in  a  geometrical  ratio.     To  explain  this,  let  us 
change  the  flaming  sun,  which  I  have  been  using  for 
illustration,  into  so  commonplace  a  thing  as  a  bicy- 
cle wheel,  and  we  shall  have  quite  as  good  a  perspec- 
tive skeleton  upon  which  to  construct  a  picture.    Let 
the  hub  be  the  point  of  sight ;  let  a  line  drawn  di- 
rectly across  the  middle,  just  below  the  hub,  be  the 
horizon  ;  let  the  lower   spokes  be  the  middle  dis- 
tance and  foreground  ;  the  lower  rim  the  bottom  of 
the  frame  or  the  station-point  where  the  spectator 
stands  ;  the  upper  spokes  the  sky  ;  the  upper  rim 
the  zenith,  or  the  top  of  the  frame  ;  and  the  side 
spokes  and  rims  the  wings  of  the  picture  and  the 
sides  of  the  frame.    Now,  if  we  suppose  in  the  right- 
hand  corner  foregi'ound  some  palaces  in  a  row,  as 
in   Turner'.s  Carthage   pictures,  or  Claude's    "  Em- 
barkation  of   the  Queen  of   Sheba,"  the   first  one 
of  which  just   fits  in  between  two   spokes  of  the 
wheel  at  their  widest  end,  and  that  the  row  recedes 
in  the  distance,  perfect  linear  perspective  would  re- 
quire that  the  height  of  the  palaces  decrease  in  pro- 
portion to  the  narrowing  of  the  converging  lines  or 
spokes.     On  the  canvas  the  buildings  might  appear 
two  feet  in  height  in  the  foreground,  one  foot  in  the 
middle  distance,  and  farther  back  only  half  a  foot; 
for,  as  the  lines  or  spokes  narrow,  the  objects  slu'ink 
correspondingly,  not  only  in  height  but  in  width, 
until  at  last  lost  in  distance  or  centred  in   the  hub. 


120  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

Of  course  the  buildings  would  not  be  the  only  ob- 
jects so  affected.  The  clouds  in  the  upper  zenith 
would  also  be  caught,  and  compressed  as  it  were, 
between  the  spokes  of  the  upper  half,  and  receding 
down  toward  the  hub  would  decrease  in  all  their 
dimensions.  The  objects  on  the  ground  or  on  the 
water,  whether  bushes,  trees,  men,  animals,  boats, 
or  ships,  would  undergo  a  similar  process  of  size- 
degradation.  The  natural  result  of  such  a  propor- 
tionate contraction  of  objects  would  be  that  only 
the  larger  objects  would  hold  out  in  the  distance, 
and  that  the  smaller  ones  would  be  completely  ab- 
sorbed or  blotted  away.  The  grass,  the  small  bushes, 
the  stones,  the  human  beings  would  vanish  long  be- 
fore the  trees,  the  ships,  and  the  palaces;  and,  as 
Leonardo  has  wisely  remarked,  by  the  very  abandon- 
ment of  the  small  things  and  the  recognition  of  the 
large  bodies  only,  would  the  distance  be  increased 
and  the  illusion  of  perspective  made  more  complete. 
It  may  be  well  to  bear  in  mind,  however,  that  in 
practice  few  painters  ever  cover  their  canvases  with 
lines  like  the  spokes  of  a  bicycle  wheel  ;  or,  as  I 
have  said,  know,  or  care  to  know,  anything  about  the 
geometrical  side  of  perspective.  If  the  painter's 
perspective  be  true,  it  may  be  planned  and  scaled 
by  lines,  but  he  does  not  consider  the  geometrical 
theory  of  form-shrinkage  to  gain  the  practical  truth 
of  perspective.     He  simply  draws  nature  as  he  sees 


LINEAE   AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      121 

it,  trying  as  far  as  possible  to  get  rid  of  the  abstract 
literal  knowledge  which  he  possesses  about  objects, 
and  striving  to  record  only  the  impression  received 
by  his  eyes.     This  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  for 
the  memory  of  objects  is  continually  influencing  the 
eye.     A  mau  a  mile  away  from  us  has  as  many  lines 
and  shades  about  him  as  at  any  other  distance,  but 
we  do  not  see  them.    He  counts  to  our  eyes  as  noth- 
ing but  a  spot  of  color  on  the  landscape,  though  we 
may  think  he  possesses  more  distinctness.    When  he 
steps  up  into  the  middle  distance  he  becomes  more 
like  a  man,  though  he  is  still  only  a  horse-post-look- 
ing affair  with  a  hat  at  the  top.     When  he  comes 
into  the  foreground,  however,  not  only  the  lines  of 
the  body  but  those  of  the  face  and  its  features,  the 
hands,  the  clothing,  all  come  out  distinctly.     The 
relative  height  or  breadth  of  the   man  at  the  vary- 
ing distances,  instead  of  being  geometrically  ascer- 
tained by  a  skeleton  of  converging  lines,  is  caught 
in  a  very  primitive  manner  by  holding  out  the  han- 
dle of   a  paint-brush  at  arm's-length,   getting  the 
man  in  a  line  of  sight,  shutting  one  eye,  and  indi- 
cating the  height  or  breadth  in  inches  by  a  Ihumb- 
mark  on  the  brush  handle.     And  for  practical  pur- 
poses, perhai)s,  this  is  as  good  a  way  as  any.     It  is 
not  quite  accurate,  but  accuracy  is  the  bane  of  the 
fine  arts,  for  no  other  reason  than  because  it  is  ac- 
curacy.     Preciseness  and  primness,  exactness  and 


122  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

conventionality  are  synonyms  in  the  art  vocabularVj 
and  any  one  of  them  is  likely  to  make  a  painting 
mechanical,  impersonal,  and  unsympathetic. 

At  the  present  time,  so  far  as  my  observation 
goes,  linear  perspective  on  the  grand  scale  is  not  so 
much  sought  after  as  it  was  in  the  early  part  of  this 
century.  That  is  to  say,  the  Claude-Poussin-Turner 
ten-mile  stretches  of  landscape,  with  streams  and 
groves  and  background  mountains  have  disappeared 
in  favor  of  the  meadow  strip,  a  marsh  land  in  fog, 
a  side-hill,  or  a  bit  of  wood  interior.  The  mod- 
ern painters  who  are,  above  all,  the  great  landscap- 
ists,  seem  to  think  that  these  long  distances,  with 
mountain  -  peaks  and  rolling  clouds,  involve  too 
much  form  at  the  expense  of  the  painter's  feeling 
and  sentiment.  I  cannot  give  the  exact  why  of  this, 
but  I  offer  you  as  a  suggestion  that  modern  paint- 
ing would  appear  to  be  nearer  of  kin  to  music  than 
to  sculpture  or  architecture,  and  is  continually 
striving  to  blend  form  with  sympathetic  execution, 
and  thus  make  one  harmonious  whole  which  shall 
emphasize  neither  nature  nor  man,  yet  embody 
both.  Where  form  is  so  predominant  as  in  mountain 
pieces,  the  state  of  feeling  or  emotion  in  the  man 
and  the  execution,  are  overbalanced  and  compara- 
tively lost.  This,  I  take  it,  may  partly  account  for 
the  fact  that  no  painting  of  the  Alps,  nor  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,   nor  of  deep  valleys  or  gorges, 


LINEAR  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      123 

has  ever  been  considered  satisfactory  art.  It  may 
also  suggest  the  reason  why  the  landscape  painter 
of  modern  times,  as  Corot,  chooses  the  low-ljing 
scene  with  few  trees  or  hills  ;  as  Troyon  or  Dau- 
bigny  the  marsh,  the  meadow,  or  the  sedgy  river;  as 
Diaz  or  Rousseau  the  quiet  wood-interior ;  leaving 
the  frowning  precipice,  the  lurid  sky,  the  blue  val- 
ley far  beyond,  to  those  who  have  neither  power  of 
sentiment  nor  skill  of  execution,  and  must  attract 
by  the  proportions  of  their  canvas  or  their  subject. 
The  recent  use  to  which  atmosphere  and  its  ef- 
fects have  been  put  has  also  been  the  cause  to  some 
extent  of  the  abandonment  of  great  distances  in 
landscape,  the  air  being  used  as  a  screen  to  shut 
out  the  backgi'ound.  Claude  and  Poussin  did  not 
perhaps  value  aerial  perspective  highly  enough. 
They  seemed  to  place  their  reliance  more  on  the 
shrinkage  of  line  than  the  fading  of  color.  The 
moderns  in  some  cases  have  gone  a  little  to  the 
other  extreme,  suffocating  the  landscape  at  times 
with  something  intended  for  air,  but  which  looks 
like  smoke,  or  fog,  or  a  scumble  of  gray  paint.  In 
pictures  other  than  landscapes  or  marines,  the  im- 
portance of  linear  perspective  has  not  perceptibly 
diminished.  It  is  quite  as  necessary  to-day  to  give 
correctly  the  dimensions  of  a  room,  the  top  of  a 
table,  or  the  legs  of  a  chair,  as  it  used  to  be  in  clas- 
sic times ;  and  while  linear  perspective  is  not  so 


124  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

much  relied  upon  for  effect  in  certain  pictures  as  it 
once  was,  yet  its  value  is  not  to  be  lightly  consid- 
ered nor  its  beauty  overlooked  in  any  picture. 

Aerial  Perspective. — The  second  part  of  this  sub- 
ject deals  with  aerial  perspective,  which  may  be  con- 
sidered in  effect  as  the  atmospheric  dissipation  and 
final  obliteration  of  lines,  colors,  lights,  and  shades 
as  the  objects  which  show  them  recede  in  the  dis- 
tance. Heretofore  we  have  been  speaking  of  the 
diminution  of  form  as  the  distance  increases ;  but  we 
have  not  taken  into  consideration  the  effect  of  the 
intervening  atmosphere  upon  the  lines,  lights,  and 
colors.  If  there  were  no  air  at  all  there  might  still 
be  linear  perspective,  as  we  all  have  noticed  in  those 
huge  airless  landscapes  which  are  sometimes  hipj^o- 
dromed  around  the  world  for  the  admiration  of  the 
unthinking  many  ;  but  in  thoroughly  good  painting 
the  air  must  be  reckoned  with,  for  it  changes  the 
appearance  of  objects  quite  as  much  as  simple  form- 
shrinkage. 

Atmosphere  must  be  looked  upon  as  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  mist,  a  haze,  or  a  light  smoke. 
The  air  about  us  is  filled  with  countless  particles  of 
matter,  which  reflect,  break,  and  transmit  weaves  of 
light  in  such  a  way  that  when  in  quantity  we  see 
them  as  a  blue  or  a  gray  haze.  Hence  the  azure 
of  the  sky  overhead  and  the  blue-gra}'  appearance 


LINEAR  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE     125 

that  hangs  about  the  mountains,  or  in  the  far-away 
depths  of  their  valleys.  This  haze,  though  too  sub- 
tile of  itself  to  be  seen  at,  say  one  hundred  yards, 
has  a  very  decided  effect  upon  objects  at  that  dis- 
tance wliich  may  be  readily  observed.  This  effect 
is,  first,  that  while  the  objects  recede  in  size  they 
also  begin  to  blur  and  waver  in  outline.  An  indis- 
tinctness gathers  about  them,  similar,  though  not  so 
strong,  to  the  dimness  which  enshrouds  objects  at 
evening  when  the  light  begins  to  fade. 

We  have  not  an  active  appreciation  of  this  be- 
cause we  lack  the  keen  eyes  of  painters,  and  for 
the  further  reason  that  we  have  a  mental  knowl- 
edge of  almost  all  the  objects  of  nature  which  con- 
tinually contradicts  our  visual  knowledge.  Thus  we 
recognize  at  two  hundred  yards  down  the  street  a 
friend  coming  toward  us  ;  but  how  do  we  recognize 
him  ?  Simply  because  he  is  a  friend  ;  because  we 
mentally  know,  from  having  stood  beside  him  many 
times,  just  how  he  looks  in  face  and  feature.  We 
see  him  on  the  street ;  something  in  circumstance, 
dress,  carriage,  or  height  speaks  who  he  is,  and  then 
our  accommodating  mind,  knowing  his  features, 
tells  our  eyes  just  what  those  features  are  like,  and 
we  immediately  fancy  we  see  his  brown  eyes,  his 
Greek  nose,  and  his  clean-cut  chin.  The  mind  may 
be  riglit  enough  in  its  recollection,  but  the  eyes 
have  been  deceived  ;  for  at  that  distance  the  human 


126  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

face,  especially  under  the  shadow  of  a  hat-brim,  is 
little  more  than  a  blur  of  flesh  color.  The  legs, 
arms,  body,  head,  are  seen,  but  the  features  of 
the  face,  sometimes  the  hands  and  feet  are  gone — 
blurred  out — not  by  reduction  in  the  size  of  those 
features,  but  by  seeing  them  through  a  veil  of  at- 
mosphere which  dissipates  and  obscures  their  Unes. 
The  truth  of  this  illustration  I  will  ask  you  to  test 
by  trying  to  make  out  the  features  of  a  person  whom 
you  have  never  seen  before,  at  the  distance  I  have 
supposed.  Under  gaslight  you  require  a  glass  to 
see  features  distinctly  across  an  opera-house  ;  you 
will  need  the  same  gl^iss  under  sunlight  to  see  the 
same  features  on  the  street  at  two  hundred  yards. 

We  may  make  a  similar  mistake  in  landscape. 
We  go  out  into  the  meadow,  and  before  our  feet  it 
is  an  easy  matter  to  count  the  individual  blades  of 
grass  as  they  grow  ;  fifty  yards  away  we  know  simi- 
lar individual  blades  exist,  and  perhaps  fancy  we  can 
see  them  ;  but  do  we  ?  A  hundred  yards  farther  on 
is  a  tree  in  foliage  ;  we  know  foliage  is  formed  of  sep- 
arate leaves,  and  again  we  fancy  we  can  see  these 
leaves ;  but  all  that  our  eyes  tell  us  is  summed 
up  in  a  round  mass  of  green,  broken  by  lights  and 
shadows.  Several  hundred  yards  farther  on  are 
some  sheep  browsing  in  the  grass.  Try  to  see  their 
ears ;  try  to  make  out  their  legs ;  try  to  make  out 
if  they  have  heads.     You  cannot.     The  animals  are 


LINEAll   AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      127 

only  oblong  patches  of  dark  or  light  color  against  the 
green  background.  Suppose  the  distance  increased 
several  hundred  yards  more  till  the  sight  strikes  a 
belt  of  timber.  It  is  composed  of  individual  trees 
vpith  broad  trunks  and  many  limbs  ;  can  you  dis- 
tinguish any  one  of  them?  Is  there  anything  to 
the  timber  but  a  mass  of  green  and  purple  foliage 
impenetrable  to  the  eye  ?  And  so  we  may  keep  on 
increasing  the  distance  until  we  come  to  the  moun- 
tain, around  the  base  of  which,  like  a  flat  carpet,  run 
forests  of  timber  scarcely  recognizable  except  by 
our  mental  knowledge  that  they  are  forests  ;  and 
higher  up  come  gray  and  bluish  masses  which  we 
know  to  be  huge  forms  of  granite  standing  aloft  like 
the  castles  of  the  Rhine  ;  and  still  higher  up  in  the 
slopes  and  gorges  the  blue  air  becomes  so  dense 
that  the  timber,  the  rocks,  sometimes  parts  of  the 
mountain  itself,  are  lost  to  view. 

Occasionally  in  looking  at  the  mountain,  when 
the  weather  is  clear,  you  may  observe  what  may 
seem  at  first  blush  a  singular  phenomenon.  The 
trees  at  the  base  of  it  are  very  dull  in  color  and 
vague  in  line,  but  at  the  top  they  appear  to  come 
out  more  distinctly.  The  top  appears  nearer  to  you 
than  the  bottom.  This  may  be  partly  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  timber  grows  thinner  toward  the  sum- 
mit, and  is  thus  more  distinct ;  but  it  is  mainly  due 
to  the  very  thing  I  am  trying  to  illustrate,  namely, 


128  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

the  density  of  the  air.  The  base  of  the  mountain 
is  seen  through  that  mass  of  the  thick  air  which  al- 
ways lies  close  to  the  ground  ;  the  top  is  partly  seen 
through  a  higher  and  thinner  atmosphere.  It  is  the 
school  teaching  of  to-day  that  the  seeing  on  the 
ocean  of  a  vessel's  masts  and  sails  before  seeing  hei 
hull  is  a  proof  of  the  roundness  of  the  earth.  The 
teaching  is  true  enough,  but  in  actual  demonstra- 
tion it  may  be  questioned  if  the  interposition  of  the 
dense  atmosphere  lying  along  the  water  has  not 
quite  as  much  to  do  with  losing  the  ship's  hull  as 
the  interposition  of  the  eai'th's  surface.  The  paint- 
ing of  distant  ships  in  the  marine  pieces  of  Dupre, 
Boulard,  and  others,  argue  that  way  at  the  least, 
and  in  a  matter  of  actual  appearance  a  painter's  eye 
is  quite  as  reliable  as  a  mathematician's  figures. 

Form,  then,  not  only  shrinks  in  size  in  propor- 
tion to  the  distance  removed,  but  blurs  and  wavers 
and  loses  its  outline  in  proportion  to  the  density  of 
the  atmosphere  through  which  it  is  seen.  On  a 
clear  day,  or  in  high  altitudes,  lines  are  quite  dis- 
tinct as  are  the  stars  on  a  cold  winter  night ;  in 
the  haze  of  October,  the  mist  of  spring,  the  heat  of 
summer,  they  dissipate  more  rapidly.  In  a  fog, 
such  as  we  often  know  along  the  Atlantic  seaboard, 
a  few  yards  are  sometimes  sufficient  to  lose  the  form 
of  objects  altogether,  as  you  may  have  noticed  in  the 
case  of  coming  and  going  ferryboats  in  New  York 


LINEAE  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      129 

harbor  during  foggy  weather.  And,  by  the  way,  I 
may  call  attention  here  to  the  fact  that  the  tops  of 
these  ferryboats  are  almost  always  seen  before  the 
hulls  or  guards,  a  fact  which  may  serve  as  further 
argument  in  the  ship-at-sea  question.  Fog  is  only 
an  extreme  illustration  of  atmospheric  density,  the 
air  being  fiUed  with  atoms  of  moisture  instead  of, 
as  upon  a  clear  day,  with  atoms  of  dust.  One  is 
denser  and  more  perceptible  than  the  other,  and 
has  a  more  positive  effect  upon  line  ;  but  both  of 
them  are  modifying  influences  which  the  painter  es- 
timates in  giving  distance,  and  which  we  should  be 
careful  to  note  for  the  reason  that  the  tyro  in  paint- 
ing often  fails  to  note  them. 

Yet  line  is  not  the  only  thing  that  dissipates  and 
blurs  in  proportion  to  the  density  of  the  atmos- 
phere through  which  it  is  seen.  Color  is  an  im- 
portant part  of  objects,  and  this,  too,  is  changed  by 
air  in  more  ways  than  one,  and  often  to  the  paint- 
er's perplexity.  First,  let  me  say  that,  so  far  as  I 
have  observed,  I  do  not  find  that  colors,  as  colors, 
are  capable  of  rendering  distance  by  association  or 
otherwise.  That  is  to  say,  blue,  because  it  resem- 
bles the  sky  or  the  ether  around  distant  hills,  is  not 
a  distance  color  ;  nor  red,  because  of  its  warmth  or 
frequent  use  in  household  decoration,  a  neaj'  color. 
All  colors  are  afTected  by  distance,  but  they  do  not 
of  themselves  create  it,  as  seems  to  be  supposed  in 
0 


130  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

some  quarters.  In  original  hue  one  appears  about 
as  near  or  as  far  as  another.  In  the  order  of  their 
disappearance  in  the  distance  there  may  be  a  differ- 
ence ;  but,  after  asking  many  landscape  painters 
about  this,  and  making  not  a  few  experiments  and 
observations  myself,  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  if  there 
be  any  great  or  well-defined  difiference.  There  is  an 
apparent  vaiiance  which  may  be  due  to  causes  other 
than  hue  or  atmospheric  effect,  the  quantity  of  light 
or  dark  contained  in  a  color  in  connection  with  the 
background  against  which  it  is  seen  being  the  prin- 
cipal one.  Given  similar  intensities  of  green,  yel- 
low, and  blue — that  is,  make  them  equal  in  the 
quantity  of  light  or  dark  they  shall  contain — place 
them  on  an  absolutely  neutral  background,  and  one 
will  appear  about  as  strong  as  another.  But  if  the 
intensities  of  light  or  dark  be  unequal  in  the  colors, 
as,  for  instance,  in  a  chrome-yellow,  an  emerald- 
green,  and  a  cobalt-blue,  then  that  color  will  (prac- 
tically) disappear  first  which  shows  the  least  con- 
trast to  the  background.  If  the  background  in  the 
case  of  these  supposed  colors  should  be  a  green 
meadow,  then  the  emerald-green  would  go  first,  the 
cobalt-blue  second,  and  the  chrome-yellow  last,  the 
light  of  the  yellow  standing  out  in  the  strongest  re- 
lief against  the  dark  of  the  green  ground. 

rt  seems  to  be  the  opinion  of  some  writers,  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci  among  others,  that  the  dark  colors 


LINEAR   AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      131 

carry  stronger  than  tlie  light  ones ;  but,  with  great 
respect  for  Leonardo,  I  think  the  working  of  the 
rule  is  mainly  dependent  upon  this  same  matter  of 
background  again.  A  light  shows  better  on  a 
dark  ground,  and  a  dark  better  on  a  light  ground. 
A  practical  illustration  of  the  first  statement  is  the 
white  disk  on  the  line-poles  used  in  surveying,  the 
white  showing  stronger  against  green  landscape 
than  black.  An  illustration  of  the  second  may  be 
seen  by  flying  two  kites,  one  a  deep  purple  and  the 
other  a  pale  yellow,  against  a  Hght  sky.  The  purple 
kite  will  stand  out  the  longer,  and  the  stronger  by 
contrast.  A  double  illustration  may  again  be  found 
in  the  military  system  of  signalling  by  flags.  If 
signalling  from  a  hill-top  five  miles  away,  where  the 
light  sky  is  the  background,  a  black  or  red  flag  is 
used  ;  if  signalling  in  a  valley  where  the  dark  earth 
is  a  background,  a  white  flag  is  used. 

The  landscape  about  us  usually  contains  more  of 
dark  than  of  light  (that  is,  as  compared  with  the  sky 
or  its  reflections  from  water,  snow,  or  the  like), 
and  the  inference  I  would  draw  from  this  is,  that 
in  ordinary  landscape  the  lights  hold  stronger  than 
the  darks,  because  of  the  generally  dark  background 
against  which  they  are  shown.  Reverse  the  ground, 
and  the  inference  must  likewise  be  reversed.  Upon 
the  mountain's  side  the  trunk  of  the  white  birch 
shows  among  the  green  pines  like  a  strip  of  snow  in 


132  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

an  upper  valley  ;  but  place  the  birch  and  the  pines 
upon  the  mountain's  ridge,  where  they  are  seen 
against  a  light  sky,  and  immediately  the  pines  show 
strongly  and  the  birch  is  lost.  Seen  from  the 
mountain's  top,  looking  down  into  the  valley,  a  field 
of  ripened  grain  surrounded  by  timber  makes  a 
light  spot  on  the  landscape  ;  but  were  the  whole 
valley  a  mass  of  yellow  grain,  and  one  patch  of  tim- 
ber stood  in  the  middle  of  it,  we  can  easily  imagine 
the  effect  would  be  the  direct  opposite  of  what  we 
at  first  noted. 

Aside  from  colors  showing  as  patches  of  light  or 
dark  on  the  landscape  (Fig.  10),  the  intervening  at- 
mosphere produces  some  changes  in  their  hues 
which  may  be  generally  summarized  by  saying  that 
as  they  recede  in  the  distance  the  light  colors  be- 
come warmer  and  the  dark  colors  lighter  and  some- 
times colder.  Thus  at  fifty  yards  a  forest  is  filled 
with  great  patches  of  green,  red,  and  warm  brown  ; 
but  two  miles  away  its  foliage  appears  as  a  mass  of 
purples,  cold  blues,  and  grays.  The  weather-beaten 
sail  of  a  fishing-smack  near  at  band  may  be  gray  in 
color  but  out  half  a  mile  at  sea  or  farther,  especially 
at  sunrise  or  sunset,  it  changes  to  a  pale-orange 
tone  not  easily  detected  except  by  the  trained  eye 
of  the  painter.  At  two  hundred  yards*  distance 
purplish-red  turns  to  orange-red,  yellow  becomes  a 
warmer  yellow  bordering  upon  orange,  ultramarine 


LINEAR  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      133 

first  turns  to  a  purple  and  tlien  quickly  dissipates, 
and  many  of  the  lighter  and  more  delicate  hues  are 
simply  grayed  down  by  the  atmosphere  into  neutral 
tints. 

I  am  not  able  to  give  you  any  scientific  reason  for 
these  changes,  nor  state  any  positive  law  that  will 
apply  to  all  colors  alike  ;  but  the  general  rule  of 
light  colors  becoming  warmer,  and  dark  colors 
lighter,  and  sometimes  cooler,  will  answer  our  pur- 
poses, especially  as  we  shall  find  its  recognition 
among  painters,  so  far  as  painters  recognize  any 
rules  whatever.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  few  of 
them  that  know,  or  care  to  know,  about  theories  of 
changing  colors.  Some  of  them  paint  nature  just  as 
they  happen  to  see  it,  at  times  producing  like  the 
impressionists,  violet  shadows  and  blue  lights  ;  oth- 
ers paint  to  make  a  picture,  and  if  a  certain  color  is 
wanted  in  a  certain  part  of  a  picture  to  make  tone  or 
harmony,  or  for  repetition's  sake,  they  put  it  there 
whether  it  is  in  nature  or  not.  It  is  the  prevailing 
belief  that  the  painter  is  ever  and  always  the  most 
conscientious  slave  to  the  truths  of  nature,  and  so 
in  the  abstract  he  is ;  but  when  he  wishes  to  paint 
a  picture  he  is  first  and  last  a  slave  to  the  truths  of 
art  And  rightly  so.  For  it  is  not  nature's  imita- 
tion we  seek,  but  a  painter's  impression  of  nature 
forcibly  set  forth  through  the  medium  of  art. 

Atmospheric   ell'ect   upon   It'yhts  and   shadows   is 


134  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

similar  to  that  upon  light  or  dark  colors,  a  high 
light  holding  stronger  among  dark  surroundings 
and  a  deep  shadow  holding  stronger  among  light 
surroundings.  When  the  contrast  is  not  marked 
they  both  fade  and  finally  disappear  from  view  at 
about  the  same  distance,  and  moreover,  when  in 
small  quantities  they  generally  disappear  sooner 
than  the  objects  reflecting  them  or  causing  them. 
In  full  sunlight  a  shadow  is  usually  darker  than  the 
object  casting  it  unless  this  object  be  black.  The 
shadow  of  a  tree,  for  instance,  at  noontime  ap- 
pears darker  than  the  tree  itself  when  close  to  view  ; 
but  when  at  a  distance  I  think  the  shadow  lightens 
and  fades  sooner  than  the  dark  of  the  tree,  per- 
haps because  its  flat  position  does  not  enable  it  to 
be  seen  so  well.  When  the  shadows  are  in  large 
masses  there  may  be  an  exception  to  this,  as  there 
may  be  in  regard  to  the  lights.  The  deep  shade  on 
a  mountain  slope,  or  the  sunlight  on  a  white  house, 
a  tin  roof,  or  a  distant  lake  may  be  seen  for  miles, 
telling  as  distinct  patches  of  dark  or  white  on  the 
landscape  ;  but  the  light  on  the  trunk  of  a  maple- 
tree  will  last  little  longer  than  the  shadow  back  of 
it,  and  the  varied  play  of  light  and  shade  among  the 
leaves  of  that  tree,  easily  seen  near  at  hand,  will  be 
blurred  out  by  distance,  the  lights  about  as  quickly 
as  the  shades.  After  lines,  colors,  lights,  and  shades 
have  all  disapppeared,  so  far  as  our  identification  of 


LINEAR    AND    AERIAL    PERSPECTIVE      135 

them  is  concerned,  there  will  still  be  a  checkered 
or  varied  appearance  about  the  objects  possessing 
them.  A  mass  of  castellated  rock  upon  the  distant 
mountain's  side,  long  after  its  line  and  color  are  lost 
and  the  lights  and  shades  of  crevices  and  breaks 
have  disappeared,  will  still  not  appear  as  one  uni- 
form hue.  The  mingling  of  color  and  Hght-and- 
shade  will  create  variations  in  the  tint  which, 
though  indefinable  in  their  vagueness,  are  never- 
theless apparent. 

The  dissipating  effect  of  atmosphere  upon  colors 
and  intensities  may  be  comprehended  better  if  in 
our  daily  walks  we  take  the  opportunity  of  compar- 
ing like  with  like  at  diflerent  distances.  There  is, 
for  instance,  no  commoner  sight  in  cities  than 
policemen  dressed  in  blue  coats  standing  on  the 
street  corners  ;  get  two  of  them  in  a  line  of  sight  at 
the  distances  from  you  of,  say,  ten  and  one  hundred 
yards,  and  you  will  immediately  see  the  difi"erence 
in  the  intensities  of  the  blue.  If  the  painter  should 
not  give  this  difference  in  pitch,  but  from  mental 
knowledge  perhaps,  should  represent  the  clothing 
of  both  policemen  of  the  same  intensity,  the  effect  of 
distance  and  air  would  be  destroyed,  the  two  police- 
men would  be  inextricably  pasted  together,  the  first 
would  not  "  detach  "  or  stand  apart  from  the  second. 
If  the  policemen  are  not  to  be  found  in  your  walks 
of  life,  you  may  notice  the  effect  of  atmospljere  on  a 


136  AKT   FOR   art's   SAKE 

row  of  elm  or  maple  trees  quite  as  readily.  Get  the 
trees  in  a  line  of  sight,  and  notice  first  the  differ- 
ence in  the  tree-trunks.  The  one  nearest  you  will 
be  the  darkest,  or  if  not  the  darkest  then  the  strong- 
est— the  most  intense  in  color  whatever  its  hue — 
and  as  the  trees  recede  they  become  lighter  and 
weaker  in  a  perfect  ratio.  The  green  of  the  trees 
will  be  affected  in  a  similar  way,  fading  away  into 
gray-green  and  finally  to  gray-blue.  The  effect  is 
noticeable  even  at  short  range  if  we  look  carefully, 
for  though  we  cannot  by  taking  thought  or  rubbing 
our  eyes  see  a  dry  atmosphere  a  block  away  from 
us,  yet  we  can  very  easily  see  its  effect  upon  objects 
at  that  distance. 

Atmosphere  may  seem  at  first  thought  a  slight 
thing  for  the  motive  power  of  a  picture  because  of 
its  intangibility,  its  delicacy,  its  apparent  remote- 
ness from  human  interest ;  but  as  it  expresses  a 
mood  of  nature,  or  a  mood  of  the  artist,  I  cannot 
see  but  that  it  is  a  beauty  which,  in  connection  with 
its  usual  attendants,  tone  and  color,  is  pleasure- 
giving  and  worthy  of  serious  consideration.  In  the 
early  June  mornings,  when  the  light  begins  to  flush 
along  the  tops  of  the  eastern  hills,  there  is  a  charm, 
a  pleasure,  a  beauty  in  the  feeling  of  cool  air  that 
fills  the  upper  valleys  ;  in  the  pale  mists  that  float 
along  the  hill-sides  ;  in  the  moist  currents  that  move 
above  the  lowland  meadows,  blurring  with  invisible 


LINEAR   AND   AEkIAL   PERSPECTIVE      137 

fingers  the  tall  reeds  and  bushes,  silvering  over  the 
foliage  of  the  willows  and  poplars,  and  dripping 
dew  into  the  cups  of  a  thousand  flowers.  It  was 
this  early  hour  that  Corot  loved  best  —  the  hour 
when  he  saw  the  beauty  of  the  morning  gleaming 
through  a  silver  veil,  and  caught  upon  canvas  the 
vision  as  it  passed.  At  noon  the  mists  and  dews 
have  gone,  the  trees  stand  motionless  in  the  hot  sun, 
casting  heavy  yet  luminous  shadows,  butterflies  of 
many  hues  waver  about  the  nodding  grass,  and  bees 
drone  idly  along  from  flower  to  flower.  A  warm 
air  appears  to  rise  from  the  earth,  gathering  around 
the  maples  on  the  walk,  and  occasionally  lifting 
with  its  faint  breath  a  single  leaf.  It  hangs  above 
the  earth  in  waves  of  stillness  like  an  enchanter's 
spell,  touching  into  immobility  all  warring  elements 
of  nature,  and  hushing  for  a  time  the  contentions 
of  men.  This  is  the  hour,  often  chosen  by  those 
painters  of  nature's  brilliancy,  Fortuny,  De  Nittis, 
Rico,  and  William  M.  Chase.  And  then  comes 
twilight,  when  the  trees  stand  up  like  silhouettes 
against  the  yellow  sky,  and  the  shadows  come  creep- 
ing down  into  the  foreground.  The  pond  is  a  mo. 
tionless  mirror  of  the  sky  ;  the  reeds  and  bushes 
are  dull  spots  of  brown  or  green  ;  the  air  moves 
hither  and  thither  in  faint  gray  waves  pushing 
about  little  patches  of  mist  already  risen,  imbuing 
all  things  with  its  spirit,  and  tinging  all  things  with 


138  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

its  hue.  This  was  the  hour  of  Daubigny — the  houi 
and  the  effect  he  so  often  depicted  in  his  silver  and 
golden  landscapes  along  the  banks  of  the  Seine  and 
the  Marne. 

Each  clime  has  its  peculiar  atmosphere,  the  just 
painting  of  which  gives  local  coloring  and  identity'. 
At  Scheveningen,  looking  up  the  beach  to  where  the 
sand-dunes  bend  around  in  a  horseshoe,  we  may 
see  the  heavy  salt  air  of  the  sea  wedged  in  the  half- 
circle,  just  as  we  have  often  seen  its  counterpart  in 
the  pictures  of  the  Dutch  sea-painters.  Off  from 
the  coast,  receding  out  to  sea,  the  orange-brown 
sails  of  the  fishing- smacks  are  blown  full  of  the 
same  strong  sea- wind  ;  the  clouds  go  torn  and  fly- 
ing across  the  upper  sky,  the  waves  come  rolling  in 
in  great  yellowish  breakers  that  crash  upon  the 
beach  just  as  Mesdag  and  others  have  portrayed 
them.  Up  over  the  protecting  dykes  the  salt  air 
carries  far  inland  ;  the  clouds  drift  over  towns, 
woods  and  meadows  ;  and  the  gray  and  damp  of 
the  ocean,  like  human  breath  upon  glass,  change  the 
whole  scene  into  a  color-tone  of  pearly-gray  such 
as  you  may  have  noticed  in  the  landscapes  of  Mauve 
or  Willem  Maris.  In  Cairo,  down  the  long  narrow 
street  at  noonday,  the  hot  air  looks  half-blue,  half- 
red,  as  though  the  stones  of  the  street  were  fur- 
naces driving  off  iridescent  heat  which  quavers 
and  rocks  itself  skyward.     The  roofs  and  the  walls 


LINEAR  AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      139 

glare  white  in  the  sun.  Dark  flat  shadows  are 
thrown  across  the  street  in  which,  crouched  against 
the  buildings,  sit  white-hooded  figures.  A  gayly- 
trapped  donkey  staggers  with  his  load.  In  the  dis- 
tance looms  like  a  shaft  of  light  the  white  minaret 
of  a  mosque.  Overhead  is  the  deep -blue  of  the 
Egyptian  sky.  It  was  thus  that  Decamps  and  Fro- 
mentin  saw  and  painted  the  beauty  of  the  East. 
Here,  in  New  Jersey,  there  are  days  in  June  when 
the  air  is  thick  with  moisture  ;  dull  leaden  clouds 
go  slowly  voyaging  along  the  sky  ;  the  heavy  foli- 
age is  saturated  with  rain ;  the  meadows  are  half- 
obscured  in  mist ;  the  hills  are  altogether  lost. 
Gray — gray  atmosphere — creeps  into  every  nook 
and  breathes  its  moist  breath  upon  every  object, 
until  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  scene  is  saturation.  It 
is  thus  that  Mr.  Inness,  our  own  landscape  painter, 
has  portrayed  it. 

The  history  of  aerial  perspective,  as  practised 
among  the  painters,  may  be  briefly  told.  I  cannot 
say  positively  who  began  the  use  of  it,  for  any  artist 
that  I  might  name  would  be  sure  to  have  a  forerun- 
ner who  practised  it  somewhat.  I  can  only  point  to 
a  period  when  all  the  artists  of  a  school  began  to  in- 
terest themselves  in  it.  We  have  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  any  of  the  Pre-Renaissance  artists  knew 
very  much  about  it.  The  knowledge  of  it  among 
the  Italians  was  extensive,  as  shown  by  the  writings 


140  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

of  Leonardo,  but  neither  he  nor  his  contemporaries 
demonstrated  it  any  too  successfully  in  landscape 
work.  Their  foregrounds  were  green  or  brown, 
their  backgrounds  were  blue,  and  little  gradation 
appeared  between  these  two  extremes.  Their  han- 
dling of  it  in  figure  compositions  was  much  better, 
though  by  no  means  remarkable.  Correggio  and 
the  Venetians  improved  upon  the  Florentines  in 
aerial  perspective,  as  they  did  in  all  things  relating 
to  the  techuic  of  painting  except  drawing  and 
composition ;  but  I  do  not  know  that  any  one  of 
them  made  atmosphere  a  picture  motive.  In  Spain, 
Velasquez  was  its  master,  and  painted  it  with  won- 
derful effect,  as  the  celebrated  picture  of  the  "  Ta- 
pestry Weavers  "  will  show.  But  it  was  the  Dutch 
and  Flemish  schools  that  first  put  it  forward  as  a 
peculiar  beauty  of  a  picture,  as  may  be  seen  in 
those  interiors  of  Pieter  de  Hooghe  and  Jan  van 
der  Meer  of  Delft,  of  which  I  have  spoken ;  in  the 
architectural  pieces  of  Van  der  Heyden,  in  the  land- 
scapes of  Hobbema  and  Wynants,  in  the  marines 
of  Van  de  Velde,  and  in  the  figure  pieces  of  Rem- 
brandt. 

In  France,  during  the  first  quarter  of  this  cen. 
tury,  atmosphere  and,  in  fact,  all  natural  effects  had 
been  largely  abandoned  for  the  beauty  of  the  classic 
and  the  academic  ;  but  about  the  beginning  of  the 
second  quarter  of  the  century  it  was  again  brought 


LINEAR   AND   AERIAL   PERSPECTIVE      141 

iuto  notice  by  Constable  and  Bonington,  and  more 
forcibly  and  poetically  by  Corot  and  the  Oriental 
ists,  Fromentiu  (Fig.  8)  and  Decamps.  The  Fon- 
taiuebleau-Barbizon  school  all  understood  it  and 
painted  it  with  the  most  poetic  results,  especiall;y 
men  like  Troyon,  Jacque,  Rousseau,  Daubigny  and 
Millet.  Among  the  moderns  there  are  so  many 
painters  devoted  to  it  that  I  can  mention  but  a  few 
of  them :  Lerolle,  Cazin,  Besnard,  Monet,  in  France ; 
Weir,  Twachtman,  Tryon,  Robinson,  in  America ; 
and  Israels,  Mauve,  Willem  Maris,  and  others,  in 
Holland. 

As  I  have  intimated,  some  of  the  moderns  go  to 
extremes  in  the  portrayal  of  atmosphere,  filling  a 
room  with  something  that  may  be  seen  almost  as 
readily  as  smoke,  blurring  figures  out  of  all  recog- 
nition at  ten  paces,  because  there  happen  to  be 
other  figures  at  five  paces,  and  stopping  up  the  end 
of  a  hundred-yard  street  with  an  impenetrable 
scumble  of  gray  paint  in  lieu  of  air.  Such  work 
may  be  clever  in  its  way  as  exemplifying  values, 
and  artists  may  sometimes  speak  of  such  pictures  as 
"  stunning  things,"  but  they  "  stun  "  more  by  their 
falsity  than  their  truth.  The  scumble  is  at  the  best 
a  questionable  means  of  obtaining  aerial  efifects  at 
short  range  ;  for  a  dry  atmosphere  that  can  be  seen 
at  a  hundred  yards  is  generally  too  apparent  to  be 
true.     We  need  not,  however,  find  fault  with  the 


142  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

painter's  methods  if  they  but  render  the  right  ef- 
fects and  when  we  consider  with  what  slight  tools 
he  produces  these  effects  of  nature — a  brush,  a  few 
colors,  and  a  flat  surface — perhaps  we  should  noi 
find  fault  with  him  at  alL 


LECTURE  V. 

VALUES 

The  word  "  Values "  is  one  continually  rolled 
under  the  tongue  by  artists,  art  critics,  amateurs, 
and  collectors  ;  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that,  like  Ben 
Achmed's  cheer,  it  means  fish  to  one,  flesh  to  an- 
other, and  fowl  to  a  third.  There  is  some  confu- 
sion of  meaning  about  the  term,  which  is  attribu- 
table to  the  fact  that  value  may  mean  more  than 
one  thing,  or  at  the  least  is  caused  or  produced  by 
more  than  one  thing,  as  I  shall  endeavor  to  explain 
to  you. 

The  broad  meaning  of  the  word  in  painting  is 
not  different  from  the  meaning  of  the  same  word  in 
the  business  world.  Personal  and  real  properties 
have  a  value,  as  judged  by  a  standard  of  gold  or 
silver ;  the  tones  and  shades  in  a  picture  have  a 
value  as  judged  by  a  standard  of  light  or  dark. 
The  hue,  or  coloring  principle,  may  be  said  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  estimate  of  a  tone's  impor- 
tance. Value  does  not  reckon  with  colors  as  color, 
but  only  with  the  quantities  of  light  or  dark  they 
may  reflect.     It  is  the  intensity  of  a  tone  or  shade 


144  AKT   FOR   art's   SAKE 

that  counts,  and  not  the  hue  of  a  red  or  the  hue  of 
an  ultramarine.  Hence  an  etching,  a  pen-and-ink, 
a  sepia,  or  a  charcoal  drawing,  may  show  values 
quite  as  well  as  a  painting  in  colors. 

In  black-and-white  work  the  unit  of  value  is  usu- 
ally black,  and  all  the  shades  of  white,  gray,  or 
black  have  a  relative  worth  or  rank  as  they  approach 
the  blackest  dark  in  the  drawing.  There  is  no  good 
reason  except  custom,  why,  inversely,  white  should 
not  be  used  as  a  unit,  and  all  the  tones  be  given  a 
rank  as  they  approach  the  purest  white  or  the 
ground  of  the  paper.  For,  as  already  observed  in 
treating  of  light-and-shade,  each  shade  is  a  light  as 
compared  with  a  deeper  shade,  and  each  light  is  a 
shade  as  compared  with  a  higher  light.  However, 
the  usage  of  the  artists  is  usually  against  the  reck- 
oning by  whites  ;  and  so  in  all  pen,  pencil,  or  etch- 
ing-needle work,  we  would  better  look  upon  black 
as  the  standard. 

To  illustrate  this  sliding  scale  of  value  in  tone 
let  us,  for  example,  consider  an  etching  of  a  land- 
scape. If  the  light  come  from  the  distant  back- 
ground, as  we  may  suppose,  the  greatest,  that  is  the 
strongest  values  would  be  in  the  immediate  fore- 
ground. The  gi-ass,  the  bushes,  the  trees,  would 
be  full  in  line  and  dark  in  tone,  showing  perhaps  as 
the  most  distinct  Hues  (or  blacks)  upon  the  paper. 
A.8  the  landscape  recedes  the  value  of  tree-trunks 


Xiii— EATON,    Reflection 


VALUES  145 

and  their  shadows  begins  to  diminish.  From  a 
sharp  black  they  become  a  dull  or  broken  black  ; 
and  the  lines  show  smaller,  thinner,  weaker.  Far- 
ther back  in  the  distance  the  trees  show  still 
fainter,  and  the  foliage  is  made  up  by  delicate 
black  lines,  broken  by  light  in  such  a  manner  that 
it  holds  not  as  a  mass  of  black  but  as  a  mass  of 
gray.  If  a  white  house  were  standing  by  a  sheet 
of  water  in  the  distance,  its  sides  would  almost 
count  as  the  white  of  the  paper,  that  is  they  would 
be  lightly  touched  with  gray ;  the  shadows  of  the 
corners  would  be  slightly  indicated  to  preserve 
identity  of  form  ;  and  the  sheet  of  water  would 
have  merely  some  faint  lines  about  it.  Lowest  in 
value  of  all,  that  is  reckoning  from  black  as  a  unit, 
would  be  the  sunset  sky  (the  highest  light),  repre- 
sented by  the  white  of  the  paper,  perhaps  cut  here 
and  there  by  a  scratchy  line  to  indicate  the  form  of 
sun-shafts  or  clouds.  If,  in  this  supposed  case  of 
gradation  from  foreground  to  background,  any  tone 
should  be  given  too  dark  or  too  light  for  its  par- 
ticular place  or  prominence,  it  would  be  false  in 
value  and  would  give  an  untrue  appearance  to  the 
stching.  The  differences  in  the  light  or  dark  of 
shades  such  as  those  we  have  supposed,  you  will 
naturally  conclude,  are  caused  by  aerial  perspective, 
the  falling  off  in  the  intensity  of  objects  as  they 
recede  in  the  background ;  but  with  the  cause  I  am 
10 


146  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

not  now  directly  concerned.  I  wisli  merely  to  poii:j1: 
out  to  you  that  whatever  may  be  the  cause  there  is 
a  diflference  in  the  light-pitch  of  the  various  objects 
or  their  shades  running  along  the  scale  from  black 
to  white  ;  and  it  is  simply  this  difference  in  pitch 
that  artists  regard  as  a  difference  in  value. 

So  much  for  the  handling  of  values  when  the 
darks  are  pronounced  and  the  gradation  toward 
white  is  uniform.  For  the  treatment  of  weaker 
notes,  and  those  which  are  merely  shades  of  white, 
the  same  landscape  will  furnish  us  an  examjole  inde- 
pendent of  recession  or  gradation  by  atmosphere 
if  we  suppose  in  the  immediate  foreground  a  thick 
clump  of  trees  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  a 
shepherdess  dressed  in  white  with  a  drove  of  sheep. 
The  girl's  dress  in  reality  may  be  pure  white ;  but 
it  is  a  white  seen  under  shadow,  and  that  is  very  dif- 
ferent from  a  white  seen  under  sunlight.  The  dress 
will  appear  whiter  than  the  gray  sheep,  but  if  the 
etcher  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  make  it  a  ptire  white 
— tliat  is,  the  white  of  the  paper — he  will  find  when 
he  comes  to  put  in  his  light  sky  that  he  has  left 
himself  no  further  resource,  no  higher  step  in  the 
whites  to  attain.  He  has  played  his  highest  card 
too  soon.  The  etching  would  be  false  in  value,  and 
the  etcher  would  be  obliged  to  go  back  and  lowei 
the  white  of  the  girl's  dress  to  a  whitish-gray  di& 
tiuctly  darker  than  the  sky. 


VALUES  147 

An  illustration  similar  to  this  would  be  an  etch- 
ing of  an  interior  where  light  is  coming  in  at  a  win- 
dow. On  the  wall  perhaps  hangs  an  engraving 
with  a  white-paper  edge  to  it  ;  around  it  is  a  white 
mat ;  and  around  the  mat  a  white  frame.  Here 
would  be  three  whites,  all,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, under  shadow  ;  but  supposing  them  all  of  the 
same  material  there  would  still  be  considerable 
variation  in  their  pitches,  because  the  engraving 
edge  is  more  under  shadow  than  the  mat,  the  mat 
more  than  the  frame.  As  regards  the  darkness  of 
their  whites,  then,  the  engraving  edge  would  come 
first,  the  mat  next,  and  the  frame  last ;  while  the 
light  coming  in  at  the  window  would  be  whiter 
than  any  one  of  them,  or  all  of  them  put  together. 
In  these  last  two  illustrations  you  will  note  that  the 
variation  in  the  whites  is  caused  by  the  uneven 
distribution  of  light.  It  is,  in  fact,  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  what  the  English  painter  would  call 
a  matter  of  "  tone  ;  "  but,  again,  we  need  not  con- 
cern ourselves  just  now  with  the  cause  nor  be  con 
fused  by  it.  The  pjfect  is  a  difference  in  the  pitch 
of  light  or  dark,  and  that  is  always,  no  matter  what 
the  cause,  a  difference  in  value. 

Whon  color  is  used  the  unit  of  value  instead  of 
being  a  dark  is  a  light,  and  painters  generally  esti- 
mate the  importance  of  a  tone  or  shade  oi  color  by 
comparison  with  the  liighest  light,  or  what  is  in  ef- 


148  ART  FOR  art's   SAKE 

feet  the  same  thing,  the  highest  color.  To  avoid  mis- 
understanding it  may  be  worth  while  to  repeat  that 
this  estimate  is  not  made  by  taking  into  account 
the  hue  or  coloring  principle  of  colors,  but  only  the 
tone  or  shade — the  quantity  of  reflected  light  or 
dark.  Vermilion  would  have  no  more  value  than 
ultramarine  were  it  not  that  the  vermilion  reflects 
twenty-five  per  cent,  of  light  and  the  ultramarine 
only  seven  per  cent.  Each  color  or  broken  tone  of 
color  has  a  value  proportionate  to  the  quantity  of 
light  it  reflects  (Fig.  11) ;  and,  scientifically,  the 
values  of  the  six  leading  colors,  if  all  subjected  to 
the  same  beam  of  sunlight,  would  rank,  from  high- 
est to  lowest,  in  the  order  of  yellow,  orange,  green, 
red,  blue,  violet.  These  values  in  a  picture,  you 
will  understand,  are  not  positive,  but  alwaj's  rela- 
tive to  other  colors  used.  The  positive  percentages 
of  light  in  the  leading  colors  have  been  computed 
by  scientists,  yet  the  computations  practically  serve 
no  purpose  in  art.  For  instance,  chrome-yellow  re- 
flects about  eighty  per  cent,  of  light,  green  about 
forty  per  cent.,  and  orange-red  about  sixty  per  cent. 
With  these  known  percentages  one  could,  I  im- 
agine, scientifically  construct  the  chief  values  of 
a  picture.  Thus,  let  the  chrome-yellow  with  its 
eighty  per  cent,  of  light  represent  a  sunset  sky  in 
the  background  ;  let  the  green  with  its  forty  per 
cent,    represent   the   grass   in  the  immediate  fore« 


VALUES  149 

ground  ;  and  let  the  orange-red  with  its  sixty  per 
cent,  represent  the  sail  of  a  Venetian  fishing-vessel 
upon  the  water  of  the  middle  distance.  Now  we 
have  the  three  leading  pitches  of  light  in  the  three 
planes  of  the  picture,  and  all  of  them  truthfully 
maintained  and  in  position.  The  green  is  to  the 
orange-red  as  the  orange-red  is  to  the  chrome- 
yellow  ;  or,  expressed  in  figures  as  regards  the  val- 
ues, 40  is  to  60  as  60  to  80. 

But  art  is  far  removed  from  science  and  mathe- 
matics. The  values  of  colors  in  a  picture  are  not 
computed  by  painters  with  scientific  or  positive 
percentages  of  light,  nor  do  they  build  pictures 
in  any  such  matter  of  figures  as  I  have  described. 
The  value  of  a  tone  is  usually  determined  by  its 
relationship  to  other  tones,  and  not  by  mathemat- 
ical calculation  but  by  the  eye  at  a  single  glance. 
To  judge  whether  a  note  is  relatively  too  high  or 
too  low  is  a  feat  not  difiicult  of  accomplishment, 
though  to  place  tlie  note  quite  right  with  a  brush 
luay  not  be  so  easy.  One  look  at  a  bouquet  of  flow- 
ers made  up  of  pink  roses,  yellow  roses,  and  violets 
will  tell  lis  that  the  yellow  has  more  value  tlian 
the  pink,  and  the  piidv  more  value  than  the  violet 
(Fig.  11)  ;  just  as  in  the  pictures  of  Sebastiano  del 
Piombo  the  orange  -  colored  robes  of  his  women 
are  seen  to  out-value  the  green  and  the  red  robes. 
That  color  whicli  appears  to  Ijc  the  lightest,  tliough 


iSO  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

it  may  not  be  the  strongest,  is  generally  the  one 
that  has  the  most  value.  When  broken  or  mixed 
tones  are  used  the  problem  becomes  a  little  more 
intricate,  but  very  little  harder  to  solve  by  the  spec- 
tator. A  brass  kettle  is  not  a  pure  yellow,  but  we 
have  no  difficulty  in  determining  its  value  as  com- 
pared with  a  copper  kettle ;  nor  is  the  scarlet  of  a 
maple-leaf  a  pure  scarlet,  yet  its  value  is  easily  dis- 
tinguished from  the  deep  red  of  an  oak-leaf.  There 
is,  however,  some  difficulty  in  detecting  the  slight 
inequalities  in  the  toues  of  the  sayne  color  when 
seen  at  varying  distances,  of  which  I  come  to  speak 
immediately. 

The  meaning  which  recognizes  value  as  the  rela- 
tive worth  in  point  of  light-pitch  of  the  various  colors 
is  the  meaning  of  the  term  as  understood  and  set 
forth  in  print  by  Fromentiu,  Blanc,  Couture,  and 
others,  about  twenty  or  thirty  years  ago,  to  speak 
generally.  But  there  has  been  a  change  in  the  ap- 
plication of  the  word  since  then  of  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  take  note.  The  advanced  painter  of  to-day 
does  not  always  consider  the  dift'erence  between  a 
green  and  a  blue,  a  red  and  a  yellow,  a  violet  and 
an  orange,  as  a  matter  of  value,  or,  at  the  least,  rare- 
ly speaks  of  it  as  such.  If  he  were  questioned  he 
would  doubtless  call  this  a  difference  in  colors — a 
chromatic  difference.  Value  in  his  vocabulary,  per- 
haps by  a  strained  use  of  the  word,  has  come  to 


YALUES  151 

mean  the  relative  importance  of  colors  similar  in 
hue  and  almost  of  the  same  intensity. 

This  slight  difference  in  value  was  exemplified 
some  years  ago  by  Fortuny  in  his  picture  of  the 
"Academicians  of  St.  Luke  Examining  a  Model," 
in  which  the  painter  has  posed  a  nude  figure  on 
the  top  of  a  marble  table,  and  thrown  the  pinkish- 
yellow  flesh  of  the  figure  against  a  delicate  pink 
wall  as  a  background.  When  Gerome  saw  the  pict- 
ure he  asked  Fortuny  why  be  had  not  placed  the 
figure  against  a  dark  ground  for  contrast,  as  he 
(Gerome)  would  have  placed  it.  Fortuny  rather  sar- 
castically replied :  "Because I  am  not  the  great  artist 
you  are,  sir."  Which  was  the  greater  artist  we  need 
not  now  stop  to  inquire,  except  to  say  that  Fortuny 
was  certainly  the  greater  as  regards  the  arrange- 
ment of  this  picture.  To  relieve  pinkish -yellow 
against  black  would  have  been  an  easy  enough 
task  ;  but  to  relieve  pinkish-yellow  against  pink 
was  the  task  of  a  skilled  technician.  Fortuny  was 
seeking  a  delicate  color -scheme,  and  found  it  by 
a  truthful  yet  very  slight  discrinjination  in  his  val- 
ues. The  detaching  of  the  figure  from  the  back- 
ground created  distance  and  air ;  the  slight  dift'er- 
ence  between  the  pinkish -yeUow  of  tlie  flesh  and 
the  pink  wall  was  suflBcient  to  do  this  ;  and  the 
gain  was  that  the  pink  of  the  wall,  instead  of  break- 
ing the  flow   of  color,  as  black  would  have  done, 


152  AKT   FOR   art's   SAKE 

facilitated  it,  made  it  subtle,  rendered  it  balf-mys« 
terious. 

Fortuny's  work  shows  not  only  a  modern  mean- 
ing of  values,  but  is  an  illustration  of  the  advance 
in  color-delicacy  which  has  been  made  in  recent 
years.  Working  by  the  Gerome  scheme  of  con- 
trasts, a  mediocre  artist  in  painting  the  portrait  of  a 
lady  would  perhaps  paint  her  in  a  lilac  dress  with 
blue  ribbons,  white  linen,  gold  ornaments,  and  a 
red  background  ;  and  the  differences  in  pitch  be- 
tween these  various  colors  would,  under  the  Blanc- 
Couture  definition,  be  his  differences  in  value.  But 
the  more  modern  valuer,  if  I  may  be  allowed  that 
word,  would  arrange  matters  otherwise.  He  would 
paint  her  in  black  silk,  trimmed  perhaps  with  black 
velvet,  black  lace,  and  jet  beads,  and  he  would 
possibly  place  her  against  a  black  or  dark-colored 
ground.  These  various  intensities  of  black  relieved 
and  detached  one  from  another  would  be  a  part 
of  his  scheme  of  values.  And  for  an  illustration 
of  the  effective  way  in  which  some  of  these  blacks 
have  been  handled  I  refer  you  to  Fortuny  again,  the 
"Portrait  of  a  Spanish  Lady,"  in  the  Metropolitan 
Museum,  New  York. 

At  the  Munich  Exhibition  in  1888,  and  also  at  the 
Paris  Exposition  in  1889,  there  was  a  well-known 
picture  (Fig.  12)  by  Duez,  the  French  painter,  show- 
ing a  woman  dressed  in  red,  seated  on  a  red  lounge, 


VALUES  153 

back  of  which  was  a  red  wall.  There  were  no  less 
than  eight  or  nine  reds  in  the  picture,  and  the  paint- 
er had  set  himself  the  task  of  painting  a  harmony  of 
them  all.  He  did  not  wish  to  break  in  upon  the 
prevailing  color  with  other  colors,  yet  he  wished  the 
objects  to  be  in  their  proper  positions  and  detached 
one  from  another.  He  accomplished  this  not  by 
contrasts,  but  by  the  use  of  like  hues.  By  slightly 
varying  the  intensities  of  red,  he  detached  his  ob- 
jects and  yet  maintained  the  color-flow.  In  the 
same  Munich  Exhibition  were  some  of  the  pictures 
of  Mr.  Whistler,  showing  figures  in  gray  relieved 
against  gray  grounds,  figures  in  brown  relieved 
against  brown  grounds,  and  figures  in  white  re- 
lieved against  white  grounds.  The  slight  differ- 
ences in  the  intensities,  or  light-reflecting  qualities 
of  these  grays,  browns,  or  whites,  reveal  Mr.  Whis- 
tler's understanding  of  values.  His  practice  does 
not  produce  relief  by  contrast  after  the  Gerume  for- 
mula, but  a  relief  by  accordance.  Each  tone  is 
guarded  and  preserved  slightly  but  securely  ;  it  is 
not  walled  up  and  shut  out  by  strongly  contrasted 
oppositions.  The  values  are  acutely  perceived  and 
delicately  recorded,  the  color-flow  is  not  broken, 
the  relationship  of  the  different  tones  is  maintained, 
every  note  is  in  its  proper  place. 

Now  here  is  apparently  a  second,  and,  I  think,  a 
more  commonly  used  meaning  of  the  word  value. 


154  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

In  reality  the  meaning  of  the  word  has  not  changed, 
but  its  application  has.  Value  is  still  the  relative 
worth  in  light  or  dark  of  tones  ;  it  is  still  con- 
cerned with  the  light  or  dark  of  colors,  but 
more  with  similar  and  closely  related  than  con- 
trasted colors.  The  difiference  between  a  dull  red 
and  a  dark  red  is  a  refinement  upon  the  differ- 
ence between  a  red  and  a  blue.  The  technical 
difficulty  of  giving  the  necessary  relief  is  greater, 
and  the  delicacy  of  color  is  brought  out  with  more 
cunning. 

As  for  the  cause  of  the  variation  in  the  light  or 
dark  of  the  similar  colors  in  the  latter  instances 
I  have  supposed,  it  is  not,  perhaps,  so  much  at- 
tributable to  the  intervening  atmosphere  as  to  the 
colors  being  in  slightly  different  positions,  or  re- 
ceiving and  reflecting  different  intensities  of  light. 
If  you  break  a  spread  of  newly  fallen  snow,  throw- 
ing a  patch  of  it  ahead  of  you,  you  cannot  fail  to 
see  the  patch  distinctly  relieved  from  the  snow 
beneath  it.  All  the  snow  is,  practically  speaking, 
of  the  one  white  ;  but  there  is  a  difference  in 
value  or  intensity  between  the  patch  and  the  main 
body  of  snow  beneath  it,  else  we  should  not  be 
able  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  The 
patch  receives  varied  intensities  of  light.  Some 
of  it  is  illumined  directly  from  the  sky,  the  sides 
of  it  receive  reflected  light,  the  underneath  parts 


VALUES  155 

of  it  have  light  thrown  up  from  the  snow  be- 
neath it.  These  trifling  variations  in  the  light-re- 
flecting powers  of  the  snow  and  its  patch  form  a 
problem  in  values  the  truthful  solution  of  which 
upon  canvas  could  alone  give  us  the  appearance 
of  nature.  A  picture  by  Mr.  Wyatt  Eaton,  called 
"Reflection"  (Fig.  13),  in  which  a  thoughtful- 
looking  girl  is  seated  close  to  a  mirror  which  re- 
flects her  side  face,  is  a  practical  illusti-ation  of  this 
difference  in  value  caused  by  difference  in  light. 
The  flesh-color  of  the  face  appears  in  both  images, 
but  the  intensity  in  the  reflection  is  not  so  great 
as  in  the  original,  for  the  reason  that  it  does  not 
rsceive  or  reflect  so  direct  a  light  as  the  original. 
In  the  case  of  the  black  silk  dress  and  its  trim- 
mings, of  which  I  spoke  a  moment  ago,  the  dif- 
ference in  the  blacks  might  be  due  to  the  respective 
reflecting  powers  of  the  various  substances.  The 
velvet  would  be  the  darkest  of  all  from  its  lack  of 
even  surface  ;  the  lace  would  be  next  in  order  of 
blackness ;  the  silk  would  be  lighter  because  its 
closely  woven  fibre  makes  a  better  reflector  of 
light  ;  and  lightest  of  all  the  four  blacks  would 
be  the  jet  beads,  which  in  their  polished  surfaces 
would  resemble  tiny  black  mirrors  reflecting  the 
light  of  surrounding  objects.  Some  of  the  causes, 
then,  of  the  variation  in  pitch  between  objects  of 
the  same  or  similar  color  may  be  set  down  to  dif. 


156  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

ference  in  position,  difference  in  light,  and  difference 
in  light-reflecting  power  or  texture. 

There  are,  however,  several  other  causes  for  the 
variations  which  must  be  enumerated  ;  but,  again, 
I  must  warn  you  against  confusing  cause  with  ef- 
fect. We  must  keep  our  eye  on  the  effect — the  varia- 
tion in  the  light-reflecting  power  of  tones  or  shades. 
For  that  must  be  reckoned  with  as  value  regard- 
less of  its  cause.  The  next  cause  of  value,  then, 
is  atmosphere.  Owing  to  the  intervening  air  two 
papers  of  the  same  color  and  in  the  same  light,  if 
seen  at  different  distances,  will  not  appear  of  a  like 
intensity.  As  observed  in  speaking  of  aerial  per- 
spective, a  yellow  at  one  hundred  yards  shifts  into 
a  dull-orange,  a  blue  into  a  dull-blue,  a  green  puts 
on  a  grayish-green  hue ;  not  only  the  intensity 
changes,  but  oftentimes  the  hue.  As  a  result,  where 
there  is  comparison  there  is  value.  The  difference 
between  similar  colors  at  varying  ranges  brings 
home  to  us  the  distinction  in  values  caused  by 
atmosphere  with  some  emphasis.  The  flesh-color 
of  a  man's  face,  and  the  blue  or  black  of  his  coat, 
are  noticeably  stronger  at  ten  paces  than  those  of 
another  man  in  a  line  of  sight  a  hundred  paces 
beyond  him  ;  and  the  red  of  a  brick  house  before 
us  is  more  intensely  red  than  that  of  another  brick 
house  half  a  mile  away  from  us.  If  we  imagined 
a  row  of  men,  a  hundred  yards  long,  and  a  row  of 


VALUES  157 

brick  houses  half  a  mile  long,  the  difference  in 
value  would  not  be  less  real,  but  it  would  be  less  ap- 
parent through  the  delicacy  of  the  gradation.  And 
in  art  it  is  by  this  delicacy  of  gradation,  its  ab- 
sence or  its  presence,  that  we  detect  the  unskilled 
worker  or  the  trained  technician. 

The  disregard  of  atmospheric  conditions,  the  lack 
of  color-gradation,  the  absence  of  true  values,  were 
the  chief  technical  shortcomings  of  the  Kussian 
painter  Verestchagin,  whose  large  expanses  of  can- 
vas were  recently  exhibited  in  New  York.  Among 
these  pictures  was  one  representing  General  Skobe- 
leff  on  horseback  dashing  along  a  line  of  soldiers 
after  some  battle.  It  was  a  snow  scene,  but  the 
snow  in  the  trenches  of  the  immediate  foreground 
was  little  stronger  in  value  than  the  snow  in  the 
mountain  valleys  five  miles  beyond  it.  Near  this 
picture  hung  one  of  a  camp  hosj^ital,  with  four  or 
five  large  tents  receding  diagonally,  each  beyond 
the  other,  toward  the  background.  The  linear  per- 
spective was  properly  regarded,  the  tents  shrank  in 
dimensions  as  they  I'eceded  ;  but  the  aerial  perspec- 
tive was  neglected,  the  tents  did  not  fall  off  in  in- 
tensity of  coloring.  One  of  the  best  pictures  in  the 
whole  collection  was  a  small  painting  of  the  "Jews 
Wailing  Wall  at  Jerusalem  ; "  but  it,  too,  was  not 
quite  true  in  values.  The  wall  was  seen  in  perspec- 
tive, receding  into  the  background  perhaps  a  hun- 


158  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

clred  or  more  yards  ;  yet  the  last  stone  of  it  was 
quite  as  strong  in  coloring  as  the  first  stone,  the 
last  figure  in  white  weeping  before  it  was  just  as 
brightly  white  as  the  first  one  on  the  line.  The 
linear  perspective  was  right  enough  again,  but  the 
effect  of  atmosphere,  the  true  values  of  the  different 
hues  and  shades  were  lacking.  The  same  painter's 
picture  called  "Blowing  from  Guns,"  an  incident  in 
the  Sepoy  War,  showed  that  he  was  not  without 
knowledge  of  aerial  perspective,  for  in  it  there  was 
a  difference  in  pitch  in  the  white  garments  of  the 
victims,  and  also  in  the  white  helmets  of  the  Brit- 
ish soldiers  ;  but  this  piece  was  an  exception  to  the 
disregard  of  delicate  values  marking  the  majority  of 
the  pictures  in  the  collection. 

If  we  turn  from  Verestchagin's  battle-pieces  to 
Lerolle's  quiet  church  interior,  called  "The  Organ 
Rehearsal,"  now  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  we 
shall  find  that  atmosphere  has  a  very  potent  effect 
in  changing  the  values  of  tones  and  shades.  The 
scene  is  in  the  organ  loft  of  a  church,  a  girl  is  sing- 
ing, and  some  people  in  groups  are  listening  to 
her.  In  front  of  her  the  choir -railing,  seen  in 
perspective,  runs  across  the  church.  Notice  this 
railing  the  next  time  you  see  the  picture  and 
you  will  see  a  decided  difference  in  the  color- 
pitch  grading  from  foreground  to  background.  The 
foreground   part  is   perceptibly   stronger  in  value 


VALUES  159 

than  the  background  part,  and  the  change  in  the 
coloring  of  the  raiUng  from  high  to  low  can  be 
plainly  traced  with  the  eye.  It  is  not  obtrusively 
prominent,  and  doubtless  you  would  not  notice  it  at 
all  unless  your  attention  were  called  to  it ;  but  it  is 
by  just  such  gi-adatious  as  this  throughout  the  pict- 
ure that  the  sense  and  feeling  of  air,  the  proper  re- 
lations of  the  figures  to  their  surroundings,  the 
expanse  and  extent  of  the  chui'ch,  are  given.  Mr. 
Bridgman  shows  an  effect  similar  to  this  iu  one  of 
his  Algerian  pictures  called  "  On  the  Terrace."  It 
is  a  scene  from  the  heights  of  the  town,  and  in  front 
of  the  teiTace  is  a  white  wall  beginning  at  one  corner 
of  the  canvas  and  running  diagonally  into  the  back- 
ground. In  the  original  the  wall  is  all  of  one  pitch 
of  white,  but  in  the  picture  the  foreground-end  of  it 
is  a  chalk  white,  and  this  white  is  graded  through 
various  stages  of  depression  until  at  the  background- 
end  we  see  a  gi-ayish-white. 

And  finally,  as  good  illustrations  of  values  arising 
from  atmospheric  effect,  I  wish  to  call  your  atten- 
tion once  more  to  the  pictures  of  Mr.  "Whistler. 
The  notes,  nocturnes,  symphonies,  and  harmonies 
of  color,  by  which  names  his  pictures  have  come  to 
find  lodgement  in  our  minds,  are  the  most  delicate 
and  refined  studies  in  values  that  you  will  see  in 
the  whole  range  of  modern  art.  His  figure -pieces 
are  usually    designed  as   studies    iu   reds,   browns. 


160  ART  FOR   art's   SAKE 

grays,  pinks,  yellows,  blacks,  or  whites  ;  but  what, 
ever  colors  he  originally  chooses  are  taken  up, 
repeated,  and  carried  through  the  whole  picture. 
For  instance,  a  lady  dressed  in  pinkish -gray  may 
be  standing  on  a  walk  in  front  of  a  house.  The 
walk  will  be  gray,  the  house  will  be  pinkish-gray, 
the  trees  will  be  gray,  the  pink  sky  beyond  it  will 
be  tinged  with  gray.  The  picture  will  strike  you 
instantly  as  a  note  in  pink  and  gray.  And  these 
different  pitches  of  the  same  or  similar  colors  will 
be  so  skilfully  rendered,  tbeir  respective  values  will 
be  so  well  maintained  that,  though  you  can  scarcely 
detect  the  difference  between  them,  they  will  never- 
theless give  you  the  sense  of  distance  and  the  feel- 
ing of  air  with  irresistible  force. 

In  his  landscapes  the  gradations  are  even  more 
subtile,  and  the  subtility  of  Mr.  Whistler's  values  is 
the  greater  from  the  extreme  simplicity  of  his  com- 
positions. A  little  patch  of  canvas  no  larger  than 
your  two  hands  will  show,  perhaps,  one  of  his  shore 
scenes  ;  a  strip  of  it  gives  us  the  gray  of  the  sand 
or  the  green  of  the  grass  ;  a  second  strip  gives  us 
the  ocean  ;  a  third  strip  gives  us  the  sky,  and  that  is 
all  there  is  to  the  composition  of  the  picture.  But 
now,  if  you  examine  the  green  of  that  shore  or 
meadow  as  it  runs  back  from  the  foreground  per- 
haps a  quarter  of  a  mile,  you  will  find  yourself  won- 
dering how  the  artist  contrived  to  make  it  lie  flat 


VALUES  161 

and  run  back.  There  is  apparently  little  chance  for 
linear  perspective,  for  there  are  few  lines  except 
those  of  the  flat  sod  ;  and  there  are  no  changes  of 
color,  nor  difference  in  value  of  one  portion  of  the 
green  over  another  portion  of  it  that  jou  can  dis- 
tinguish with  any  degree  of  certainty.  Yet  the  green 
recedes,  and  it  does  so  by  almost  imperceptible  gra- 
dations of  color,  by  the  most  delicate  handling  of 
values  yet  known  in  art — so  delicate  that  they  are 
hardly  seen,  but  rather  felt  to  be  there.  And  this 
gradation  runs  from  the  foreground  down  to  the 
shore,  and  from  the  shore  it  begins  again,  on  a 
slightly  different  pitch,  and  runs  across  the  sea  to 
the  horizon,  where  it  begins  once  more  in  the  same 
way  and  runs  up  the  sky.  The  values  of  earth,  sea, 
and  sky,  as  different  masses  in  relation  to  each  other, 
are  correctly  maintained,  and  through  each  of  the 
three  masses  the  values  are  can'ied  again  with  a 
greater  refinement  and  a  more  cunning  brush.  Per- 
haps this  gradation  by  values  is  an  illustration  in 
paint  of  what  Mr.  Whistler  has  said  in  words,  that  a 
painting  is  finished  when  all  the  means  of  its  pro- 
duction have  vanished  from  the  canvas.  Whatever 
his  theory  of  art,  his  practice  certainly  places  before 
us  charming  bits  of  nature,  as  beautiful  in  their 
coloring  as  they  are  true  in  the  relationship  of  their 
parts.  Above  all,  as  a  creator  as  well  as  a  tech- 
nician, he  gives  us  more  of  the  spirit  of  a  scene  than 
11 


162  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

its  dry  facts  and  literal  forms.  He  knows  how  to 
grasp  and  emphasize  striking  features ;  and  he 
knows  how  to  leave  to  the  imagination  much  that  if 
placed  in  the  picture  would  simply  drag  it  down. 

I  began  this  subject  to-day  by  saying  that  "value 
meant  more  than  one  thing,  or  at  the  least  was  caused 
or  produced  by  more  than  one  thing."  I  must  re- 
peat that  it  reckons  only  with  the  quantity  of  light 
or  dark  shown  by  a  tone  or  shade  ;  but  this  quan- 
tity of  light  or  dark  may  be  produced  by  several 
diiferent  causes.  We  have  examined  some  of  these 
causes  ;  first,  the  original  difference  in  the  light  or 
dark  of  colors  ;  secondly,  the  different  light  received 
or  reflected  by  similar  colors  placed  in  slightly  vary- 
ing positions ;  and  thirdly,  the  influence  of  atmos- 
phere. Now,  there  is  still  a  fourth  cause  productive 
of  a  difference  in  the  light  or  dark  of  tones  which  I 
hesitate  about  referring  to,  because  I  may  be  thought 
disposed  to  mix  up  terms  and  misname  certain  art- 
means.  This  fourth  cause  is  light-and-shade,  or 
chiaroscuro. 

It  may  be  objected  to  the  atmospheric  influence 
that  it  is  nothing  but  aerial  perspective,  that  it 
should  be  regarded  as  such,  and  not  be  confounded 
with  value.  A  similar  objection  may  be  made  to 
the  introduction  and  compounding  of  chiaroscuro 
with  value.  My  answer  is  twofold.  First,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  cause,  whether  original  difference  in 


VALUES  163 

color,  aerial  perspective,  or  simple  light-and-sbade, 
the  effect  is  a  variance  in  pitch  which  must  be 
recognized  as  value.  In  other  words,  a  matter  of 
atmosphere  or  of  chiaroscuro  is  also  a  matter  of 
value.  Secondly,  it  is  necessary  to  treat  of  these 
art-means  as  productive  of  or  influencing  value,  for 
the  reason  that  the  modern  painters  so  regard 
them.  Painters  have  certainly  a  right  to  give  their 
own  meanings  to  their  own  products,  or  means  of 
production,  however  much  it  may  displease  diction- 
ary makers  and  art  critics.  If  they  choose  to  re- 
gard aerial  perspective  and  chiaroscuro  as  value, 
and  they  certainly  do  so  regard  them,  then  they 
must  be  recognized  as  such  by  other  people.  The 
term  has  undergone  several  changes  in  its  usage 
since  Couture  and  Blanc  defined  it  as  the  light  or 
dark  of  different  colors  and  confined  its  application 
to  colors.  You  need  not,  then,  be  surprised  to  hear 
so  modern  an  artist  as  Carolus-Duran  saying  to  a 
pupil  in  his  reported  studio  talks  :  "  You  have  a 
shadow  there  on  the  neck  that  looks  like  a  stain,  be- 
cause it  is  not  true  in  value."*  Nor  need  you  be 
surprised  to  hear  William  M.  Hunt,  in  his  Talks  on 
Art,  speaking  about  "  Values — or  masses  of  light 
and  shade  ;"  and  another  artist  writing  in  the  Art 
Amateur:  "These  degrees  of  light  and  dark,  whether 
due  to  shade,  to  atmospheric  effect,  to  lighting,  or 
*  Contemporary  Review,  May,  1888. 


164  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

to  local  color,  are  the  values."  For  it  is  precisely 
the  "  degrees  of  light  and  dark  "  that  produce  value, 
and  all  causes  of  these  degrees  must  be  taken  into 
consideration,  among  them  chiaroscuro. 

I  have  in  mind  a  picture  of  Arab  horsemen  dash- 
ing out  from  beneath  a  grove  of  trees.  The  first 
horseman  is  in  the  open  light,  the  second  still  under 
the  shade  of  the  trees  ;  both  are  on  the  same  plane 
and  but  a  few  feet  apart.  Let  us  suppose  bo-th  of 
these  horses  are  bay-horses.  Though  of  precisely 
the  same  coloring,  would  not  the  one  in  the  open 
be  of  a  higher  value  than  the  one  under  the  wood? 
Undoubtedly.  And  to  what  would  this  difference 
be  due?  To  atmosphere?  No;  they  are  on  the 
same  plane,  and  we  see  them  both  through  the  same 
density  of  air.  To  original  difference  of  color?  No  ; 
we  are  supposing  them  both  to  be  bay-horses  or  at 
any  rate  of  the  same  coloring.  To  what,  then,  is  the 
variation  in  appearance  due  unless  it  be  to  light-and- 
shade  ?  It  is  simply  the  difference  between  a  bay- 
horse  in  full  sunlight  and  a  bay-horse  in  shadow, 
and  this  is  not  only  a  matter  of  light-and-shade,  but 
a  matter  of  value. 

Take,  again,  a  Cairo  street  in  the  late  afternoon 
when  the  shadows  of  the  houses  extend  across  the 
street  and  fill  it  with  shade.  At  one  part  of  it  there 
is  a  missing  house  and  a  broad  belt  of  sunlight  pours 
through  the  opening,  turning  whatever  it  touches 


VALUES  165 

into  wliite  and  gold.  Instantly  there  is  a  difference 
in  value.  The  white  walls  in  sunlight  become  the 
highest  white,  to  which  all  the  other  whites  whether 
under  shadow  or  in  half-tone  pay  allegiance.  The 
picture  of  the  "Turkish  School,"  by  Decamps  in 
the  Musee  Fodor  in  Amsterdam  is  a  good  illustra- 
tion of  a  similar  effect.  The  school  interior,  its 
gayly  dressed  occupants,  and  its  gray-haired  teacher 
are  all  in  shadow,  except  where,  through  a  barred 
window,  the  sunlight  falls  and  strikes  upon  the 
wall.  And  this  spot  of  light  is  so  vivid  that  people 
oftentimes  mistake  it  for  reality  and  look  about 
the  gallery  to  see  from  what  window  the  light 
comes.  The  relation  of  the  light  to  the  shadow  is 
certainly  true  enough  to  make  the  illusion  momen- 
tarily possible.  Were  the  sunlight  painted  in  a 
lower  key,  or  were  the  interior  shadows  painted 
higher,  we  should  feel  the  inconsistency  at  once. 
The  picture  would  not  give  the  appearance  of  nat- 
ure, and  a  painter  would  say  of  it  that  it  was  false 
in  value. 

If  these  wide  variations  in  pitch  caused  by  light 
or  shade  in  mass  can  be  regarded  as  value,  then  it 
is  difficult  to  understand  why  light  or  shade  in 
smaller  quantities  should  not  bo  considered  in  the 
same  way.  The  difference  between  the  flesh-color 
of  the  chin  and  that  of  the  throat  just  beneath  it 
may  bo  due  to  light-aud-shade,  yet  each  tone  must 


166  AET   FOR   art's   SAKE 

be  reckoned  with  for  its  value,  for  if  either  be 
placed  too  high  or  too  low  the  portrait  is  rendered 
untrue.  It  was  doubtless  the  placing  of  too  strong 
a  dark  on  the  neck,  judged  by  the  light  of  the 
cheek  or  the  chin,  that  led  Carolus-Duran  to  say 
what  he  did  to  his  pupil.  It  might  be  said  that 
the  pupil  simply  made  a  slip  in  his  light-and-shade 
by  getting  the  shadow  too  dark  ;  and  true  enough 
that  was  the  only  error.  But  the  result  of  the  error 
was  that  the  relation  of  the  tones  was  falsified,  and 
that,  I  am  insisting,  was  a  falsification  of  value.  A 
group  of  young  men  dressed  in  white  tennis-suits 
standing  under  a  tree,  some  of  them  in  shadow  and 
some  in  sunlight,  is  a  matter  of  light-and-shade 
again,  and  in  England  a  matter  of  tone  ;  but  the 
comparison  of  the  whites  in  sunlight  with  the 
whites  under  shadow  creates  value. 

Wherever  there  is  an  o^Dportunity  for  the  com- 
parison of  one  tone  or  shade  with  another  tone  or 
shade  there  value  presents  itself  regardless  of  how 
the  tones  or  shades  are  produced.  But  it  is  always 
necessary  that  there  should  be  something  with 
which  to  compare.  There  must  be  a  comparative 
standard  or  unit  by  which  an  estimate  of  a  tone 
may  be  made.  There  could  hardly  be  value  to  a 
vase  taken  separately  from  other  objects  any  more 
than  to  a  bag  of  gold  on  a  desert  island  ;  but  great 
distance  or  many  objects  are  not  necessary  to  the 


VALUES  167 

comparison.  The  value  of  the  vase  could  be  esti- 
mated by  comparison  with  another  vase,  a  piece  of 
marble,  or  a  wall  background  ;  and  the  fold  of  a 
yellow  dress  may  serve  for  comparison  with  a  yellow 
glove,  or  even  with  portions  of  the  same  dress  seen 
in  a  different  light,  or  at  a  slight  distance.  There 
is,  however,  a  delicate  line  of  distinction,  rather 
hard  to  determine,  which  marks  the  limit  where 
value  leaves  off  and  pure  light-and-shade  is  alone 
regarded. 

A  broad  use  of  the  word  is  sometimes,  though 
not  often,  applied  to  the  intensities  of  the  different 
planes  or  sections  of  a  picture  as  they  are  affected 
by  sunlight,  shadow,  or  atmosphere.  Thus  a  green 
meadow-landscape  may  be  shadowed  in  the  fore- 
ground, sunlit  in  the  middle  distance,  half-lighted 
in  the  background,  and  obscured  in  the  sky,  giving 
four  distinct  pitches  of  color,  each  of  them  a  mass 
of  diversified  intensities  in  itself,  and  each  holding 
a  relationship  as  a  mass  to  the  other  masses.  Or, 
as  in  the  landscapes  of  Mr.  Whistler,  there  may  be 
a  green  foreground,  a  middle  distance  of  beach  and 
sea,  and  a  background  of  dark  sk}'  each  different  in 
pitch  again.  Or  there  may  be  three  other  pitches 
of  intensity,  as  shown  in  the  people,  the  marbles, 
and  the  buildings  of  Couture's  "Romans  of  the  De- 
cadence." 

It  is  necessary  in  good  art  that  the  intensity  of 


168  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

each  plane  be  maintained  within  itself  and  be  main- 
tained in  relationship  to  the  other  planes.  The  rea- 
son of  this  rule  of  art  we  would  instantly  appreciate 
could  we  see  an  example  of  the  rule's  violation. 
One  of  Couture's  Romans  painted  in  strong  colors, 
and  given  a  high  value,  if  put  into  the  background 
of  his  picture  would  not  stay  there.  The  strong 
coloring,  the  coloring  of  the  first  plane,  would  bring 
the  figure  forward  into  that  plane  notwithstanding 
it  might  be  linearly  represented  as  standing  by  a 
distant  column  of  the  second  plane.  So  in  a  land- 
scape an  intensity  of  the  first  plane  if  put  in  the 
second  plane  would  appear  there  as  a  spot,  an  ac- 
cidental brush-stroke,  which  we  should  feel  like 
wiping  out.  In  either  case  relationship  would  be 
falsified  and  the  picture  would  be  "  spotty  "  or  dis- 
jointed. 

It  may  be  carrying  coals  to  Newcastle  to  explain 
my  explanation  of  values,  but  some  may  still  feel 
like  asking  :  "  What  is  the  object  of  this  regard  for 
pitch  and  intensity  after  all  ?  "  and  I  feel  that  it  is 
perhaps  necessary  to  say  a  few  words  more  con- 
cerning what  value  accomplishes,  for  it  is  certainly 
one  of  the  most  important  features  of  modern  tech- 
nic,  and  one  upon  which  great  stress  is  laid  by  the 
painters.  First,  then,  the  proper  maintenance  of 
values  places  objects,  tones,  and  shades  in  a  picture 
in   the   j^recise  relative  position  which  they  occupy 


XV  -  HiNIURRiCCHIO,    Portrait  of  a  Boy. 


VALUES  169 

in  the  natural  scene  ;  it  unites  all  things  by  giving 
the  appearance  of  atmosphere,  and  blends  the  scene 
into  one  consistent  whole,  such  as  we  know  nature 
itself  to  be.  Along  the  northern  shore  of  the  Medi- 
terranean— one  of  the  most  beautiful  shores  on  the 
globe — an  imaginative  person  may  see  through  the 
depths  of  the  clear  water  what  looks  to  be  a  mimic 
world  lying  aloug  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  The  rocks 
appear  to  stand  as  mountains,  the  sands  as  valleys, 
the  sea-weeds  as  forests,  the  sea-shells  as  houses  ; 
light  shines  through  it,  shadow  marks  it,  difterent 
color-intensities  appear  everywhere,  and  over  all  is 
the  lapseless  wave,  the  swaying  current,  that  ce- 
ments the  whole  into  one — the  oneness  of  the  sea- 
world.  Our  own  world  is  much  like  it,  so  moulded, 
so  diversified,  so  shadowed,  so  lighted  ;  and  over 
it,  cementing  and  holding  it  together  by  invisible 
hands,  is  a  similar  lapseless  wave,  a  swaying  current, 
not  of  water  but  of  air.  The  transparent  medium 
through  which  in  each  case  we  are  enabled  to  see, 
helps  to  give  proper  place  to  objects,  lights,  and 
colors,  so  that  they  have  a  worth  according  to  their 
position  which  we  may  estimate  as  value.  Without 
relative  positions,  without  true  values,  the  world  of 
sight  in  actual  life  would  be  but  a  jumble  of  con- 
fused shades  and  tones  ;  objects  and  colors  would 
not  recede  ;  order  would  give  place  to  chaos.  In 
reaching  out  for  a  hand  we  might  grasp  a  wrist  ;  in 


170  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

walking  we  should  stumble,  not  seeing  depressions 
and  elevations ;  in  throwing  a  stone  we  should  not 
know  what  force  to  give  it,  for  distance  would  be 
annihilated. 

You  may  have  seen  somewhat  of  this  unnatural 
chaotic  effect  in  mediocre  pictures  where  the  differ- 
ent objects  fail  to  "detach;"  a  portrait  head,  for 
instance,  hopelessly  fastened  to  its  background,  a 
tree  with  its  foliage  glued  fast  to  a  white  cloud,  or 
two  sails  of  an  oncoming  ship  which  appear  as 
one.  But  a  short  time  ago  my  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  this  very  lack  of  values  in  a  picture  at 
one  of  our  spring  exhibitions,  showing  a  side  view 
of  a  yoke  of  oxen  in  the  tall  grass  by  the  edge  of  a 
pond.  The  body  of  the  near  ox  completely  hid 
the  body  of  the  far  one,  but  there  were  two  heads 
and  two  necks  appearing  in  the  picture,  and  one 
ox  had  his  head  down  drinking  while  the  other 
had  his  raised.  The  painter  had  not  given  the 
true  values  to  the  different  heads  and  necks.  The 
head  of  the  far  ox  rose  directly  over  the  head 
of  the  near  one  ;  it  apparently  did  not  recede  be- 
yond the  other  a  hair's  breadth.  The  result  was  as 
might  be  expected.  The  public  was  treated  to  the 
museum  curiosity  of  the  double-headed  ox  repro- 
duced in  art. 

You  may  often  see  similar  examples  of  incom- 
petency among  artists  of  the  English  school,   and 


VALUES  171 

also  at  times  among  the  impressionists.  The  lat- 
tei"  have  been  from  the  beginning-  strong  advocates 
of  values,  yet  their  practice  has  not  always  exem- 
jjlifieJ  them  happily.  In  some  of  the  portraits  by 
Manet,  the  founder  of  the  school  and  possibly  its 
strongest  painter,  the  heads  come  forward  from  the 
bodies  and  the  necks  recede,  through  the  use  of  too 
strong  or  too  weak  colorings  ;  the  background  in 
Bastien-Lepage's  "Joan  of  Arc  "  is  confused  for  the 
same  reason  ;  and  in  Degas's  work  confusion  is 
sometimes  worse  than  confounded  by  having  the 
pink  dress  and  head  of  a  ballet-girl  in  one  plane  of 
the  picture,  and  her  feet  in  another  plane.  From 
this  it  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  infer  that  Manet, 
Bastien,  Degas,  Renoir,  and  others,  are  inferior 
painters.  On  the  contrai'y,  we  shall  some  day  come 
to  forget  their  extreme  point  of  view  with  their 
technical  experiments,  and  think  of  them  as  men 
who  advanced  the  serious  study  of  art  by  the  dis- 
covery of  new  appearances  in  nature  and  new 
methods  of  interpreting  those  appearances. 

There  is  one  more  objpct  of  values  co'.icerning 
which  I  made  some  mention  in  my  second  lecture 
by  quoting  Fromentin  as  saying  that  "  the  whole 
art  of  the  colorist  lies  in  his  knowledge  in  employ- 
ing the  exact  relations  of  values  in  tones."  This 
statement  of  Fromentin 's  is  perhaps  a  little  broad 
in  its  scope,  but  there  is  certainly  good  cause    for 


172  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

thinking  that  color-harmony  is  largely  governed  by 
relation.  How  or  why  it  is  so  governed  is  not  easy 
of  explanation,  and  I  can  only  suggest  to  you  what 
I  think  to  be  the  reason  of  it,  namely,  that  the 
maintenance  of  the  proper  relations  and  positions 
of  tones  is  in  itself  a  cause  of  harmony  independent 
of  the  tones  employed.  Whether  we  like  or  dislike 
certain  conjunctions  of  color  in  a  picture,  we  do  not 
feel  any  discord  when  the  same  colors  are  employed 
by  nature,  except  occasionally  when  the  light  is  dis- 
coloring or  bleacliing.  Yellow,  blue,  and  green  may 
jar  in  a  picture  of  an  autumn  landscape,  because  in 
it  the  relations  of  tones  are  only  partly  given  or  per- 
haps not  given  at  all.  The  green  sward  may  be 
shown  but  a  few  feet  below  the  scarlet  maple,  and 
the  top  of  the  scarlet  maple  may  be  the  resting- 
place  for  the  blue  sky.  But  the  autumn  landscape 
itself,  when  we  look  out  upon  it,  seems  not  inhax'- 
monious.  The  green  sward  runs  flat  for  miles,  and 
the  blue  sky,  in  its  indefinable  depth  and  flawless 
transparency,  is  far  above  and  far  beyond  the  scar- 
let maple.  And  as  the  relationships  in  nature  or  art 
are  coarse  or  refined,  strongly  marked  as  in  full  sun- 
light, or  subtilely  blended  as  in  twilight  scenes,  so 
is  our  sense  of  harmony  comparatively  satisfied  or 
superlatively  delighted.  Three  broad  bands  of  red, 
green,  and  blue  placed  side  by  side,  though  not  dis- 
agreeable, would  hardly  be  called  a  rhythm  of  col- 


VALUES  173 

or.  The  relationship  between  them  is  not  delicate. 
But  take  these  colors  and  place  them  on  the  three 
points  of  a  triangle,  one  on  each  point,  and  then 
blend  in  toward  the  centre  of  the  ti'iangle  through 
the  intermediate  notes  until  we  are  unable  to  say 
where  one  color  leaves  off  and  another  color  begins, 
and  immediately  we  shall  have  a  harmony. 

It  is  this  delicate  blending — this  subtile  running 
of  one  note  into  another,  yet  ever  maintaining  values 
and  relationships — that  gives  to  Mr.  Whistler's  pict- 
ures their  beauty  of  color  ;  that  lends  the  charm  of 
light  and  air  to  the  landscapes  of  Corot ;  that  makes 
Watteau's  fete  scenes  a  delight  to  the  eye,  and 
helps  place  the  pictures  of  the  little  Dutchman  in 
the  first  rank  of  art.  I  see,  or  at  the  least  think  I 
see,  this  flow  of  tones  true  in  value  and  accurate  in 
position  in  the  masterpieces  of  Paolo  Veronese,  and 
Tiepolo  ;  it  seems  to  me  apparent  in  the  subtile  reds 
and  yellows  of  Rubens  ;  in  the  browns  and  grays 
of  Pieter  de  Hooghe  ;  in  the  reds  and  golds  of  that 
greatest  painter  of  all,  Velasquez.  As  far  as  I  am 
able  to  judge,  therefore,  I  may  say  that  the  mainte- 
nance of  values  in  closely  related  tones  of  color  is  a 
leading  principle  of  color-harmony.  Tliis,  suppos- 
ing it  to  be  the  true  hypothesis,  may  be  entertained 
without  prejudice  to  the  genius  of  the  colorist  ;  for 
though  the  principles  of  color  were  as  well  known 
as  those  of  poetry,  yet  the  production  of  a  harmony 


174  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

or  an  epic  would  still  require  the  services  of  those 
exceptional  men,  the  colorist  and  the  poet. 

From  my  speaking  of  Paolo  Veronese  and  Tie- 
polo  in  this  connection  you  will  doubtless  infer,  and 
rightly  enough,  that  the  Venetians  knew  the  mean- 
ing and  importance  of  values.  They  certainly  knew 
how  to  maintain  the  relationship  of  tones,  but  the 
word  value,  coming  from  the  French  valeiir,  is  of 
modern  coinage.  All  the  Venetians,  particularly 
Carpaccio  in  landscape,  show  the  happy  handling  of 
values,  and  before  them  the  Florentines  developed 
tone-relationship  somewhat,  notably  Botticelli,  but 
not  in  an  entirely  satisfactory  way.  The  fourteenth- 
century  painters,  Giotto  and  his  followers,  were  all 
weak  in  this  feature,  painting  being  then  in  an  im- 
mature state  as  regards  its  technic,  and  value  being 
not  the  first,  but  one  of  the  last  technical  problems 
with  which  painting  was  to  deal. 

Before  the  Italians,  so  far  as  we  know,  values 
were  little  shown,  though  it  is  possible  the  Greeks 
may  have  possessed  a  knowledge  of  them.  Egyp- 
tian painting,  with  its  planeless,  airless,  shadowless 
pictures,  is  an  excellent  example  of  where  they  are 
entirely  lacking.  After  the  Italians  the  great  mas- 
ter of  values  was  Velasquez.  I  do  not  think  that 
any  painter,  ancient  or  modern,  ever  surpassed  him 
in  giving  the  proper  position  of  tones  and  shades, 
and  in  the  placing  of  objects  in  atmosphere.     The 


VALUES  175 

Dutclimen  thoroughly  understood  the  importance 
of  relationship,  and  have  been  usually  spoken  of  as 
"  strong  "  in  values,  especially  Kembrandt,  though  it 
may  be  well  to  note  that  Rembrandt's  strength  is 
often  forced  and  exaggerated  strength.  His  adjust- 
ment of  lights  to  darks  is  perhaps  true,  in  a  way, 
but  the  truth  itself  is  so  violent  at  times  as  to  be 
almost  a  falsehood.  Franz  Hals,  Steen,  or  Brouwer, 
seem  to  me  more  moderate  exponents  of  the  princi- 
ple, though  none  of  them  possessed  the  great  power 
of  Rembrandt.  After  the  decline  of  the  Dutch  and 
Flemish  schools  value  as  an  art-means  existed  in  a 
feeble  way  only,  until  the  moderns,  notably  Corot, 
took  up  the  subject  anew,  and  Couture,  Fromentin, 
and  others  wrote  upon  it  under  the  name  of  "  va- 
leur."  All  of  the  Fontainebleau-Barbizon  school 
comprehended  its  importance  ;  Bastien-Lepage  was 
a  severe  student  of  it ;  and  at  the  present  time 
there  are  many  painters  like  Carolus-Duran,  Bes- 
nard,  Raffaelli,  Sargent,  Chase,  Weir,  who  employ  it 
in  a  masterful  manner. 

In  common  with  other  art-means,  value  has  of 
late  been  emphasized  too  much,  perhaps,  and  given 
undue  prominence.  Painting,  like  poetry,  oscillates 
between  extremes.  At  one  time  it  is  color  that 
exercises  the  ingenuity  of  the  schools,  at  another 
time  line,  at  another  textures  and  brush-work,  and 
now  it  is  value  that  sets  the  art  world  agog,  and 


176  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

makes  bad  blood  between  the  so-called  naturalist 
and  the  old-time  conservative.  The  extremists  at 
present  are  some  of  the  impressionists,  who  evident- 
ly see  nature  as  a  series  of  patches  pitched  in  dif- 
ferent keys,  and  maintain  that  the  properly  inten- 
sified patch  will  represent  the  human  figure,  for 
instance,  quite  as  well  as  academic  modelling  and 
drawing.  This  drawing  by  spots,  areas,  or  patches 
of  color,  has  its  advantages  which  we  need  not  sneer 
at,  yet  we  may  refrain  from  accepting  it  as  the 
whole  truth  to  the  demoralization  of  all  older  be- 
liefs. The  pendulum  must  vibrate  several  times 
before  it  pauses  on  the  mean  line.  A  partial  re- 
action from  the  patch  of  the  impressionist  to  the 
firm  drawing  and  modelling  of  the  academician 
will  take  place,  and  eventually  we  shall  have  a 
compromise  between  the  two  which  may  produce 
the  art  of  the  true  naturalist — that  man  who,  like 
nature  herself,  is  led  into  neither  one  extreme  nor 
the  other,  but  gives  to  all  things  their  proper  place, 
and  blends  all  things  into  unity  and  harmony  with 
that  truth  of  design  and  nobility  of  execution  which 
humanly  approximate  the  work  of  the  Great  De- 
signer of  AIL 


B^m^ 


XVI  — BENOZZO    GOZZOLI,    Adoration  of   Kings  (detail). 


LECTUEE  VT. 

DRAWING  AND  COMPOSITION 

The  dispute  as  to  whether  liue  is  more  important 
than  color  or  color  than  line,  has  about  it  the  flavor 
of  age  but  little  of  the  fiavor  of  lair-miudedness. 
Thex-e  are  stout  advocates  on  either  side,  but  why 
there  should  be  any  question  about  supremacy 
when  both  means  are  necessary  to  art,  is  one  of 
those  interesting  queries  answerable  only  by  con- 
sidering the  faculty  for  special  pleading  i^ossessed 
by  the  human  intellect. 

Color  gives  the  glow  and  brilliancy  of  nature  ; 
line  its  grace  and  grandeur.  Richness  and  trans- 
parency, lustre  and  depth  of  hue,  belong  to  paint- 
ing ;  but  the  placing  of  a  muscle,  the  hollowing  of 
a  depression,  the  rounding  of  a  shoulder,  the  ex- 
pression of  a  face,  the  movement  of  the  body,  these 
belong  to  drawing.  There  is  no  reason  why  art- 
means  with  such  widely  different  aims  should  clash, 
and  of  themselves  they  do  not.  The  clash  is  be- 
tween their  partisan  advocates.  It  is  the  academy- 
trained  classicist,  skilled  in  drawing  but  unable  to 
12 


178  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

handle  color,  who  occupies  one  extreme  position  and 
maintains  the  superiority  of  line ;  and  to  counter- 
balance him  we  have  on  the  other  end  of  the  see- 
saw the  interesting  impressionist,  who  oftentimes 
knows  something  of  color  but  little  of  line,  and  who 
maintains  the  beauty  of  the  former  and  the  useless- 
ness  of  the  latter.  The  impressionist  places  a  patch 
of  color  on  the  landscape  and  says  to  us  that  it  is 
by  color  we  know  a  cow  from  a  sheep.  True,  but 
only  a  part  of  the  truth.  We  know  one  from  the 
other  quite  as  much  by  dimension.  From  the  point 
of  our  quick  identification  of  objects  in  nature,  the 
impressionist  with  his  color  is  no  nearer  perfection 
than  the  classicist  with  his  line — perhaps  not  so 
near — and  in  the  one  discarding  drawing,  and  in 
the  other  slumng  color,  they  both  of  them  overlook 
featiires  which  are  necessary  and  beautiful  in  art — 
doubly  beautiful  when  brought  together.  In  medio 
tutissimus  ibis.  In  disputed  questions  it  is  not  a 
bad  plan  to  hold  a  middle  course.  Any  one  view 
of  art  is,  at  the  best,  little  more  than  a  matter  of 
opinion  ;  and  we  who  are  interested  iu  it  as  spec- 
tators only,  can  ill  afford  to  be  purblind  or  half- 
sighted  in  view.  Perhaps  then  we  would  do  well  to 
consider  that  color  has  its  beauty,  that  line  has  its 
beauty,  and  that  there  is  no  ground  for  comparison 
between  tbem  as  to  which  is  the  more  beautiful. 
Each  has  an  individual  beauty  to  be  judged  by  its 


DRAWING   AND    COMPOSITION  179 

own  merits,  and  both  together  make  up  a  language 
of  art  without  which  the  highest  thought  or  feehng 
of  the  artist  would  remain  unexpressed. 

Drawing  is  the  representation  of  lines,  or  their 
modifications,  upon  flat  surface  in  such  a  way  that 
the  curves,  the  depressions,  the  elevations,  the 
structures,  in  short  the  linear  character  of  an  object, 
are  shown  to  us.  It  includes  in  its  scope  perspec- 
tive, light-and-shade,  and  values,  as  some  of  the  aids 
whereby  it  attains  its  end.  For  drawing  in  art  does 
not  mean  a  flat  silhouette  thrown  upon  a  canvas  ; 
nor  does  line  mean  the  hard  edging  about  an  en- 
closed space.  The  portions  of  an  object,  like  the 
limbs  of  a  ti'ee,  that  come  forwai'd  or  recede  in  the 
background  require  perspective  or  foreshortening 
for  their  rendering  ;  the  relief  of  a  muscle  on  the 
arm,  the  depression  in  the  hollow  of  the  eye  re- 
quire light-and-shade  ;  and  to  give  the  thrust  for- 
ward of  one  leg  and  the  push  backward  of  another 
leg  requires  a  knowledge  of  values.  Drawing, 
then,  should  give  us  more  than  the  contour  of  ob- 
jects ;  it  should  give  us  depth,  biilk,  weight,  action, 
life.  It  has  been  called  the  "  grammar  of  art,"  but 
it  might  more  appropriately  be  named  the  litera- 
ture of  art,  for  its  trutliful  exposition  is  one  of  the 
most  difficult  things  of  accomplishment,  next  to  har- 
mony of  color,  in  the  whole  field  of  painting. 

VVhilo  I  shall  treat  of  that  part  of  drawing  which 


180  ART  FOR  art's   SAKE 

relates  to  line  only,  I  do  not  purpose  to  speak  of 
the  various  rules  of  line  laid  down  in  text-books,  for 
that  is  quite  foreign  to  the  object  of  these  lectures. 
I  assume  that  I  am  speaking  to  spectators,  or  at  the 
best  amateurs  of  art,  not  artists  nor  art-students. 
Again,  I  do  not  intend  to  detain  you  with  accounts 
which,  if  you  received,  you  would  probably  forget, 
of  such  technical  methods  as  drawing  with  pen, 
pencil,  charcoal,  or  brush.  Matters  of  that  kind  be- 
long to  the  class-room  or  studio,  where  language 
may  be  illustrated  by  casts,  models,  and  drawings. 
For  ourselves,  with  little  exact  knowledge  of  forms, 
which  should  make  us  cautious  in  criticism,  and 
with  only  a  general  impression  of  the  objects 
about  us,  we  must  find  some  simpler  method  of 
testing  the  truth  or  falsity  of  drawing  than  the 
academic  model. 

There  are  two  general  kinds  of  drawing,  be- 
tween which  we  need  to  discriminate  at  the  start. 
Mr.  Hamerton  has  called  them  the  Classic  and  the 
Picturesque,  though  I  should  prefer  the  word 
Naturalistic  for  the  latter  style,  meaning  by  that 
rather  clumsy  adjective  the  drawing  which  repre- 
sents the  natural  appearance  of  objects.  The  Clas- 
sic (1)  deals  with  line  for  line's  sake,  and  its  ad- 
vocates maintain  that  in  its  purity  and  simplicity, 
in  its  delicacy  and  flow,  in  its  unity  with  variety 
and  its  variety  without  abruptness,  lies  the  highest 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  181 

beauty  of  art.  Its  chief  subject  is  the  human  fig- 
ure, and  in  representing  this  figure  it  does  not 
pretend  to  absolute  or  special  truth  of  natural 
effect.  On  the  contrary,  it  would  seem  to  claim 
that  individual  examples  of  nature  are  imperfect, 
and  that  the  acme  of  perfection  is  arrived  at  only 
by  uniting  many  individual  perfections  into  one 
perfect  whole  called  (and  miscalled)  the  ideal.  In 
no  sense  is  it  a  deceptive  imitation,  nor,  as  I  have 
said,  does  it  aim  at  even  a  striking  representation 
of  nature.  It  does  not  reproduce  a  natural  beauty  ; 
it  creates  a  beauty  of  its  own.  All  the  clever  brush 
feats  whereby  textures  and  surfaces  are  given,  sun- 
light and  shadow  painted,  and  powerful  relief  or 
depression  shown,  are  foreign  to  its  purpose.  The 
figure  is  oftener  flat  than  relieved,  the  outline  is 
too  firm  for  nature,  the  flesh  is  not  realistic  flesh, 
nor  the  hair  realistic  hair,  and  as  for  tJie  clothing 
it  does  not  show  the  texture  of  cloth  but  is  de- 
signedly drapery — a  something  to  repeat  or  con- 
tinue the  curves  or  falls  of  line.  In  fact,  pure 
classic  drawing,  as  once  practised  by  David  (Fig. 
14)  and  Ingres,  and  continued  in  a  modified  form 
by  present-day  academicians,  has  very  little  exact 
nature  about  it  and  a  great  deal  of  carefully  con- 
sidered, powerfully  directed,  and  skilfully  executed 
art.  It  is  correctly  associated  in  our  minds  with 
Greek  and  lloman  art,  the  remains  of  wliirli  some 


182  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

of  the  Italian  masters,  and  the  draughtsmen  of  the 
achool  of  David,  emulated  and  sought  to  reproduce. 
It  does  not  give  us  nature,  but  it  certainly  gives  us 
a  dignified  and  graceful  quality  of  art,  noble  in 
theme  and  perhaps  ideal  in  aspiration.  It  may  be 
lacking  in  contemporary  human  interest,  in  spon- 
taneity, and  in  those  personal  qualities  so  much 
sought  for  in  art  to-day ;  yet  for  its  lofty  aim,  its 
purity,  and  the  skill  required  in  its  execution,  it 
should  be  ranked  as  high  art,  and  treated,  even  by 
the  realists,  with  consideration. 

But  We  should  beware  of  classic  drawing  out  of 
its  proper  sphere.  It  is  abstract  and  creative,  not 
in  any  modern  sense  real  or  imitative.  When, 
therefore,  the  two  kinds  of  drawing,  classic  and 
naturalistic,  meet  on  the  same  canvas,  there  is  a 
clash.  The  graceful  classic  figure  with  its  accented 
outlines  introduced  amid  natural  surroundings 
creates  discord  at  once.  For  nature  does  not  show 
those  accented  outlines.  The  objects  in  a  room, 
for  instance,  hold  place  by  virtue  of  relation  and 
harmony.  A  nude  human  figure  in  that  room  be- 
comes a  part  of  the  whole.  Its  outline  fades  into  an 
edge,  faint  and  tremulous  with  light  and  air ;  the 
protrusions  and  recessions  of  the  body  show  light- 
and-shade  ;  the  flesh  becomes  a  well-marked  text- 
ure ;  breath,  palpitation,  movement,  life,  are  its 
endowments.     Treat  this  figure  after  the  classic  for- 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  183 

mula,  and  hardness,  flatness,  stiffness,  death,  is  the 
immediate  result.  Beauty  of  line  counts  for  naught, 
because  out  of  place  and  inappropriate.  This  would 
be  equally  true  in  the  case  of  a  landscape.  In 
nature  all  things  have  their  relation  one  to  an- 
other. Objects  are  placed  in  air,  not  against  it. 
The  hard  outline  and  the  flat  silhouette  do  not 
exist.  The  trunk  of  a  tree  is  round,  its  apparent 
edges  are  not  its  deepest  color-notes,  and  moreover, 
its  surface  is  slightly  wavered  or  blurred  by  atmos- 
phere. A  leaf  of  a  tree  is  not  the  flat  affair  we 
find  pressed  between  the  pages  of  the  family  Bible, 
but  is  a  waving,  dancing  spirit,  receiving  and  re- 
flecting light  and  shade,  and  is  oftenest  seen  as 
a  blur  or  tadie  of  green.  A  house  has  its  lines 
and  edges,  yet  they  are  not  straight  nor  strong, 
but  are  affected  by  direct  and  reflected  light,  by 
shadow,  and  by  atmosphere  again. 

In  Naturalistic  drawing  (2),  then,  as  distinguished 
from  classic  drawing,  we  would  do  well  to  beware 
of,  fu-st,  the  academic,  or  the  hard  line  ;  and, 
secondly,  we  Avould  do  Avell  to  consider  the  old 
master's  maxim  that  "  the  whole  is  more  important 
than  the  part."  The  small  tilings  must  be  dis- 
regarded for  the  great  truths.  The  most  important 
thing  about  a  tree  is  its  depth,  volume,  roundness, 
mass,  and  to  get  this  impressive  truth  emphasis 
of  stem-drawing    and    leaf-drawing    should   not    be 


184  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

given.  A  thousand  stems  and  leaves  do  not  make 
a  tree  any  more  than  a  mass  of  words  makes  a 
book.  The  life  principle  lies  deeper,  and  the  por- 
trayal of  this  is  certainly  of  more  importance  than 
the  emphasized  drawing  of  the  infinitesimal  parts. 
Objects  should  be  conceived  in  their  entirety,  and 
so  drawn  that  there  is  a  unity,  a  gathering  of  all 
parts  into  one  complete  whole  (Fig.  1).  The 
putting  together  of  arms  and  legs,  piece  by  piece, 
as  a  child  builds  a  block-house,  will  only  result 
in  a  manikin,  even  though  it  be  done  with  the  ac- 
curacy of  a  David  and  the  finish  of  a  Denner. 
The  isolated  details  of  form  remain  simply  isolated 
details.  They  may  be  classically  beautiful,  and  yet 
beautifully  dead. 

In  representing  nature,  vitality  counts  for  more 
than  accuracy.  Delacroix  was  not  a  correct 
draughtsman,  from  a  classic  point  of  view.  He 
sometimes  twisted  heads  as  no  ordinary  muscles 
could  twist  them,  he  occasionally  broke  legs  and 
arms,  and  he  painted  abnormally  large  feet  and 
hands  ;  but  he  seldom  failed  to  impress  his  be- 
holders with  the  great  truth  and  power  of  life. 
Michael  Angelo  was  another  dislocator  of  joints  on 
occasion,  and  many  an  artist  since  his  time  has 
slurred  hands  and  feet  to  give  the  feeling  of  form, 
the  harmony  of  the  whole.  But  in  the  case  of 
such  men  the  slur  is  intentional.     Truth  of  detaiJ 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  185 

is  purposely  sacrificed  to  truth  of  mass.  For  where 
line  in  classic  di'awing  is  generally  attained  at  the 
expense  of  life,  life  in  naturalistic  drawing  is  often- 
times attained  at  the  expense  of  line.  We  should 
bear  in  mind,  then,  that  in  classic  drawing  we  are 
to  look  for  accurac}'  of  proportions  and  beauty  of 
line  ;  but  in  naturalistic  drawing  we  are  to  look, 
first,  for  the  appearance  of  life.  In  pictures  which 
aim  at  natural  effects,  the  first  questions  we  should 
ask  ourselves  are  not,  "  Is  that  wrist-bone  drawn 
correctly  ?  "  "  Is  that  chimney  on  straight  ?  "  but 
rather,  "  Does  that  look  like  a  human  being  ?  " 
"  Does  that  look  like  a  house  ?  "  And  this  brings 
me  to  another,  and  the  most  important,  feature  of 
objects  in  nature  as  we  see  them  and  as  they  should 
be  portrayed  upon  canvas. 

The  chief  jjurpose  of  naturalistic  drawing  is  to 
give  the  character  of  objects,  and  if  we  are  strongly 
impressed  with  that  character  at  once,  then  the  pur- 
pose of  the  drawing  has  been  accomplished  whether 
the  lines  be  quite  true  or  not.  Troyon  could  not 
draw  a  cow  as  correctly  as  Brascassat,  but  the  dif- 
ference between  the  two  men  is  that  Troyon  really 
shows  us  a  cow  and  cow-nature,  while  Brascassat 
gives  us  an  exterior  of  a  cow,  or  a  cow-skin.  It 
would  seem  to  be  immaterial  to  us  which  one  of  tlie 
artists  places  the  muscles  in  the  quarters  the  most 
accurately,   for    tlie    object    of    the  drawing    is    not 


186  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

to  show  us  cow-anatomy  but  cow-life.  The  earl}" 
nudes  of  Millet  do  not  compare  in  accuracy  and 
delicacy  of  drawing  with  those  of  Bouguereau,  but 
again  one  gives  us  the  vivid  impression  of  human 
nature,  robust  strength,  and  vigor  of  limb  ;  while 
the  other,  faultily  faultless,  icily  regular,  accurate  to 
an  exasperating  degree,  gives  us  but  the  epidermis 
of  humanity,  a  beautiful  shell,  a  something  pleasing 
without  but  empty  and  lifeless  within.  Diderot 
tells  us  of  a  young  figure-painter  who,  before  be- 
ginning to  draw,  always  knelt  down  and  prayed  to 
be  delivered  from  his  model.  It  is  not  the  literal 
facts,  the  mere  exterior  appearance,  but  the  charac- 
teristic nature  of  an  object  that  counts.  In  the 
presence  of  a  picture  of  quarried  building  stones 
of  what  use  to  ask  ourselves  whether  the  seams  and 
veins  and  edges  be  drawn  correctly  !  The  essence 
of  a  rough  granite  block  is  its  solid  bulk  and  mass, 
and  we  should  ask  ourselves  :  "  How  much  does  it 
weigh  ?  "  If  we  can  feel  that  the  stone  has  thick- 
ness and  weight  to  it,  as  for  instance  in  Mr.  Chase's 
little  picture  of  stone  in  the  Brooklyn  Navy  Yard, 
then  its  chief  characteristic  has  been  given  and  the 
drawing  is  good. 

In  such  cases  accuracy  is  sacrificed  to  what  may 
be  called  the  essence,  the  individuality  of  things. 
There  is  in  Venice  a  statue  of  General  Coleoni  on 
horseback,    which   I   venture  to  think   one   of   the 


DRAWING  AND   COMPOSITION  187 

finest  bronzes  in  Europe  ;  yet  judged  by  absolute 
truth  of  line  both  horse  and  man  are  extravagant 
creations.  No  horse  ever  had  such  proportions, 
no  man  quite  such  a  figure  ;  but  stand  back  and 
look  at  the  push  and  power,  the  defiant  spirit, 
the  intense  character  of  man  and  horse  which  are 
given,  and  you  will  begin  to  think  there  was  a 
method  in  the  distorted  modelling  of  Verocchio. 
So  again  when  Delacroix  and  Barye  draw  the  tiger 
it  is  not  anatomy,  muscle,  bone,  and  sinew  that 
they  strive  to  show  ;  but  the  snarling,  crouching, 
treacherous  mass  of  energy  which  makes  up  the 
character  of  the  tiger.  Were  it  a  hyena  they  would 
give  it  a  sneaking  apprehensive  look,  a  bunched  ap- 
pearance in  the  fore-quarters,  and  a  swinging  shuf- 
fling tread  ;  were  it  a  deer  the  character  would  be 
that  of  shyness  with  slimness  of  form  and  a  springy 
elastic  step.  The  individuality  of  objects,  if  I  may 
so  speak,  is  the  first  thing  that  impresses  us  in 
nature  and  it  should  be  the  first  thing  to  attract 
our  attention  in  art.  The  drawing  of  an  athlete, 
who  we  feel  sure  is  six  feet  high  with  a  proportion- 
ate breadth,  and  yet  does  not  look  to  weigh  more 
than  ten  pounds  ;  the  outlining  of  a  stone  building, 
which  we  feel  certain  is  not  more  than  an  inch 
thick  and  is  not  of  stone  but  of  card-board  covered 
with  muddy  paint  ;  the  delineation  of  a  parrot  on  a 
perch,  which    we   know   to  bo    light   and    flutry    in 


188  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

plumage  yet  is  painted  to  look  like  a  piece  of  porce« 
lain,  all  this  may  furnish  us  with  graceful  enough 
line,  but  it  does  not  give  us  the  character  of  these 
objects  which,  I  have  attempted  to  maintain,  is  the 
aim  of  the  naturalistic  draughtsman. 

It  may  possibly  occur  to  some  of  you  that  instead 
of  setting  forth  such  beauties  as  line  may  possess,  I 
am  trying  the  best  I  know  how  to  demonstrate  that 
art  can  get  along  without  it.  Such  is  certainly  not 
my  intention.  Instead  of  wishing  to  abolish  line 
I  am  simply  striving  to  show  that  in  nature  it  is 
not  rigid  and  immovable  as  we  find  it  in  classic 
drawing,  but  elastic  and  changeable  ;  that  it  is  not 
a  cold  petrified  fact,  but  a  fleeting  impression  full  of 
life  and  movement,  or  at  the  least  having  the  pas- 
sive power  of  being  moved.  The  granite  block  has 
no  active  life,  but  its  lines  are  being  continually 
changed  by  light  and  shade  and  air.  The  human 
figure  while  being  acted  upon  by  like  influences 
has  the  power  of  action  inherent  in  itself.  The 
swinging  arm  of  the  wood-chopper  does  not  pause 
in  air  to  let  the  artist  draw  it  ;  it  moves  on,  and,  as 
Veron  has  well  said,  some  of  that  movement  which 
has  gone  before  and  some  of  that  which  is  to  follow 
should  be  given.  There  must  be  the  suggestion  of 
motion  by  an  elasticity  of  line  else  the  man  is  dead, 
frozen  stiff  with  his  axe  upraised  above  his  head. 
Were  the  human  eye  like  a  photographic  camera  we 


DRAWING   AND    COMPOSITION  189 

might  catch  the  momentary  poise  of  the  woodman's 
axe  and  see  it  rigidly  upheld  ;  but  the  best  proof 
that  the  human  eye  does  not  receive  such  quick  im- 
pressions is  the  recent  and  rather  startling  revela- 
tion of  the  instantaneous  camera  concerning  the 
motions  of  the  galloping  horse.  The  camera  tells 
us  of  awkward  steps,  bunched  positions  and  sprawl- 
ing legs,  but  our  eyes  tell  us  of  a  graceful  elon- 
gated body,  extending  legs  and  neck,  in  short  the 
rush  of  a  speeding,  flying  animal.  And  this  is  be- 
cause the  retina  of  the  eye  always  retains,  for  a 
short  space  of  time,  the  image  of  the  vanished  ob- 
ject. It  is  by  the  retained  image  that  we  see  an  ap- 
parent ring  of  fire  when  one  whirls  a  torch,  with 
one  end  of  it  in  a  glow  of  coals,  rapidly  around  the 
head  ;  and  it  is  by  the  same  momentary  retention  of 
objects  on  the  retina  that  the  juggler  astonishes  us 
with  his  sleiglit-of-hand,  his  hand  travelling  faster 
than  the  sight  of  our  eyes.  Some  years  ago  there 
was  shown  in  New  York  a  picture  by  a  well-known 
painter  representing  a  Western  prairie-fire,  with 
several  emigrant  wagons  fleeing  before  it.  The 
situation  of  the  emigrants  was  perilous  in  the  ex- 
treme, for  in  luldition  to  tlie  fast-approaching  flames 
the  wagon  wheels  appeared  not  to  turn  on  their 
axles.  Tlie  painter  had  painted  every  spoke  in  the 
wheels  to  be  counted  I  Tlio  iioxt  time  you  see  a 
carriage  on  the  street  in  rapid  motion,   notice  liow 


190  AET   FOK   art's   SAKE 

many  of  the  spokes  you  can  count,  or  even  see  ex 
cept  as  a  whirl  and  a  blur  of  confused  light  and 
color. 

Without  considering  the  apparent  truth  of  this 
distorted  lengthened  blurred  look  of  objects  in 
motion,  without  considering  the  difference  between 
things  as  they  actually  are  and  as  they  apixar,  peo- 
ple have  at  times  unjustly  condemned  pictures  of 
high  merit.  They  have,  for  instance,  found  fault 
with  the  flying  figures  of  William  Blake  because  the 
legs  and  feet  were  too  long,  but  they  never  found 
fault  with  them  because  they  did  not  fly.  In  the 
same  way  they  have  criticised  the  drawings  of  Dela- 
croix's tigers,  Fromentin's  horses,  Michael  Angelo's 
figures,  and  Millet's  peasants,  but  they  have  not 
criticised  the  sense  of  motion,  life,  and  power  which 
these  men  have  given.  It  is  just  this  sense  and  feel- 
ing of  life,  this  appearance  of  reality,  that  the  mod- 
ern draughtsman  endeavors  to  portray  ;  and  if  he 
give  us  the  essence,  the  character  of  objects,  we  need 
not  cavil  over  his  lines,  be  they  apparently  right  or 
academically  wrong. 

It  is  unnecessary  that  I  should  multiply  illustra- 
tion by  following  up  this  idea  in  landscapes,  genre 
paintings,  and  marines.  Trees  and  flowers  and 
waves  all  have  lines  capable  of  being  moved  and 
swayed  ;  and  even  the  scarred  and  broken  cliifs  and 
the  steadfast  mountains  may  change  with  the  pass- 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  191 

ing  of  a  cloud  over  the  face  of  the  sun.  Nature,  in- 
stead of  being  but  one  thing  and  having  but  one 
form,  has  many  shapes,  many  lights,  many  hues. 
She  shifts  with  each  new  breeze  and  changes  with 
each  new  sunbeam.  The  painter  must  catch  the 
passing  look,  and  suit  his  hues  to  nature's  momen- 
tary mood.  To  portray  landscape  rigid  and  immov- 
able is  to  portray,  not  the  living,  but  the  dead 
world. 

There  are  so  many  methods  of  drawing  and 
forms  of  line  used  in  painting  to-day  that  it  would 
be  almost  impossible  for  me  to  describe  them,  even 
had  I  reason  to  believe  that  you  would  be  interested 
in  hearing  about  them.  Of  the  more  common  forms 
of  line  and  their  uses,  such  as  the  straight  line,  the 
curved  line,  the  broken  line,  the  angle  line,  I  shall 
have  something  to  say  in  speaking  of  composition  ; 
but  I  may  say  here  that  no  formula  of  drawing, 
such  as  we  often  have  laid  down  to  us  in  art  text- 
books, can  be  accounted  of  much  importance  ex- 
cept as  productive  of  evil.  Generally  speaking, 
rules  in  art  are  evils  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
they  are  rules.  They  restrict  the  artist's  powers, 
they  stifle  spontaneity,  they  burden  the  spirit  of 
creation,  which  should  be  free  of  petty  restraints. 
To  be  bound  by  the  traditions  and  received  laws 
of  our  forefathers  fits  us  to  do  and  be  no  better 
than  those  wlio  have  g(me  before  ;  and  it  is  the  at- 


192  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

tempted  enforcement  of  old  laws  upon  new  peo« 
pies  that  continually  breeds  political,  social,  liter- 
ary, and  artistic  revolutions. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  that  in  that  modern  art 
which  is  not  on  its  face  eccentric  or  experimental, 
the  kind  of  line  used  is  governed  in  a  general  way 
by  two  considerations :  First,  by  the  nature  of  the 
object  drawn  ;  and  secondly,  by  the  nature  of  the 
artist  drawing.  A  crystal  vase  possessed  of  great 
fineness  of  texture  naturally  requires  fineness  of 
line ;  whereas  a  coarse  earthen  jug  requires  a 
rougher,  broader  treatment.  The  drawing  of  a 
building  is  generally  marked  by  firm  lines,  especial- 
ly if  seen  close  to  view  ;  but  the  drawing  of  floating 
clouds  needs  faint  touches  and  sketchy  lines  of 
great  delicacy  to  give  their  fleecy  nature.  Again, 
the  drawing  of  a  rough  stone  wall  may  need  harsh 
broken  lines ;  while  the  drawing  of  a  mass  of  foliage 
may  call  for  blurred  and  indefinite  lines.  The  lines 
of  a  sea-wave  should  conform  to  its  undulatory  mo- 
tion, those  of  a  brazen  shield  to  its  light-reflecting 
qualities,  and  those  of  a  bear-skin  rug  to  its  hairy 
texture.  In  a  similar  manner  certain  objects  re- 
quire upright  lines,  others  flat  or  diagonal  lines,  and 
others  again  need  circular  waving  flowing  lines,  as 
I  shall  attempt  to  show  hereafter. 

In  working  with  a  paint-brush  the  nature  of  the 
object   almost   always    dictates  the    manner   of   its 


DRAWING    AND    COMPOSITION  193 

treatment.  The  human  figure  requires  some  recog- 
nition of  outline,  and  a  working  from  the  edge  in 
toward  the  centre,  or  vice  versa.  In  landscape  line 
work  throughout  is  almost  impossible,  and  the 
modern  painter  draws  largely  by  areas.  A  tree,  for 
instance,  is  not  edged  or  outlined  but  brushed  in 
from  the  middle  and  worked  outward  until  the  pro- 
portions of  the  area  are  attained.  Again,  there  may 
be  a  drawing  by  patches  of  light  or  dark,  a  glitter- 
ing lake  and  a  bright  patch  of  sky  holding  certain 
spaces  of  light  in  a  landscape  as  distinguished  from 
a  mass  of  rain-clouds  and  a  belt  of  deep  shadow 
holding  certain  spaces  of  dark  (Figs.  2  and  5). 
And  still  again  there  may  be  a  drawing  by  patches 
of  color,  characteristic  of  the  impressionists  ;  a 
drawing  by  spots  or  isolated  glitters  of  light,  char- 
acteristic of  the  modern  Spaniards  ;  and  a  drawing 
by  patches  of  black,  characteristic  of  Goya  and  his 
followers. 

But  while  the  nature  of  an  object  has  much  to  do 
with  the  manner  of  line-treatment  it  receives,  per- 
haps a  greater  emphasis  should  be  laid  upon  the 
second  consideration,  that  both  the  object  and  its 
lines  are  greatly  influenced  by  the  nature — the 
mental,  emotional,  and  artistic  make-up — of  the  ar- 
tist. Individual  treatment  has  become  in  these 
modern  times,  more  than  ever  before,  the  distin- 
guishing mark  of  genius.  Not  that  every  original 
13 


194  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

way  is  indicative  of  genius  by  any  means,  but  rather 
that  every  genius  has  an  original  method  of  setting 
forth  his  view.  This  we  may  see  in  the  great  paint- 
ers of  all  times  by  comparing  their  different  treat- 
ments of  one  given  subject,  the  human  form,  for  in- 
stance. Michael  Angelo  handled  it  with  swift  vigor- 
ous lines,  giving  muscular  power,  luxuriant  strength, 
the  grace  of  grandeur  ;  Raphael  handled  it  firmly, 
yet  delicately,  imparting,  especially  to  his  women,  a 
charm  of  manner  and  a  superb  rhythm  of  move- 
ment ;  Correggio  suffused  the  lines  of  his  figures 
with  shadow-gradations  and  atmosphere,  giving  an 
effect  of  warm  physical  life  and  purely  sensuous 
beauty  ;  Titian  made  those  lines  bend  with  easy 
strength  and  throb  with  living  color.  So  again  in 
landscape  Rousseau  saw  a  tree  as  a  solid  bulk  of 
arms  and  foliage  ;  Daubigny  saw  it  more  delicately, 
saw  it  in  motion,  light,  airy,  luminous ;  Claude 
Monet,  the  luminarist,  sees  it  sometimes  as  a  patch 
of  pale  greenish-blue  casting  violet  shadows.  It  is 
thus  that  every  painter,  be  he  ancient  or  modern 
master,  has  his  peculiar  way  of  seeing  and  working, 
and  as  a  result  of  his  individuality  we  have  what  is 
called  his  style. 

A  draughtsman's  style — we  often  hear  of  the  style 
of  Leonardo,  or  Raphael,  or  Diirer,  or  some  other 
artist — is  nothing  more  than  his  characteristic  way 
of  setting   forth   his  own  view.     It  is  the   human, 


DKAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  195 

the  subjective  element,  thrusting  itself  forward  and 
influencing  the  observation  and  the  portrayal  of 
nature.  It  is  impossible  for  any  artist,  howsoever 
pronounced  a  realist  he  may  be,  to  make  a  mechani- 
cal machine  of  his  eyes  and  fingers  He  cannot  re- 
ceive and  record  like  a  photographic  camera,  be- 
cause he  has  not  the  dispassionate  unreasoning 
inorganic  nature  of  the  camera.  He  must  see  with 
his  eyes,  think  with  his  brain,  and  work  with  his 
fingers  ;  strive  as  he  may,  he  cannot  escape  the  pe- 
culiarities which  nature  has  imparted  to  those  indi- 
vidual members.  In  their  way  every  man's  brain 
and  eye  are  biassed  as  compared  with  another  man's 
brain  and  eye  ;  and  every  man's  hand  moves  differ- 
ently from  that  of  another.  A  dozen  men  of  equal 
talent,  if  set  to  draw  one  object  before  them,  would 
produce  a  dozen  likenesses,  no  two  of  which  would 
be  quite  the  same.  It  is  this  individuality  of  mind, 
eye,  and  hand,  all  of  which  go  to  form  a  style, 
that  gives  to  Leonardo's  work  its  grace  and  mystic 
charm  ;  that  gives  to  the  work  of  Tintoretto  its 
fierceness,  and  fire  ;  that  gives  to  Bellini  and  Car- 
paccio  earnestness  and  honesty,  and  to  Velasquez 
dignity  and  easy  strength.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
the  very  lack  of  individuality — the  lack  of  original 
view  and  treatment — that  renders  the  work  of  Carlo 
Dolci  insii^id,  the  Caracci  exaggerated,  Lebruu  the- 
atrical, and  Bouguoreau  utterly  empty. 


196  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

We  may  say,  then,  in  so  many  words  that  style 
is  the  man — the  expression  of  the  human  element 
in  art — and  while  there  are  some  painters  who  show 
themselves  in  subject,  and  some  in  brush  work, 
there  are  others,  like  the  Florentines  of  the  Renais- 
sance and  the  classicists  of  the  French  Empire, 
whose  individualities  were  none  the  less  forcibly 
revealed  in  flow  of  line  and  strength  of  modelling. 

There  is  a  myth  going  about  the  world  to  the 
effect  that  drawing  first  became  known  by  a  Greek 
girl  seeing  the  shadow  of  her  lover  on  the  wall  and 
outlining  it  with  charcoal.  It  is  rather  a  pretty 
conceit,  but  the  cave-dweller  of  the  Stone  Age 
knew  drawing  before  walls  were  built  or  Greek 
girls  had  lovers,  as  we  may  see  by  an  examination 
of  prehistoric  remains.  All  of  the  ancient  nations 
of  the  world  practised  it  somewhat,  but  with  no 
great  success.  The  Greeks  were  the  first  to  be- 
come accomplished  draughtsmen,  and  the  Romans 
borrowed  the  most  of  what  they  knew  of  it  from 
them.  The  early  Christians  soon  distorted  and 
then  wrecked  art  by  imposing  ecclesiastical  con- 
ventionalities upon  it  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the 
thirteenth  century  that  drawing  again  began  to 
rise.  In  the  fifteenth  century  Masaccio,  Ghir- 
landajo,  Signorelli,  Mantegna,  in  Italy,  and  in  the 
North,  Van  Eyck  and  Memling,  gave  it  power,  dig- 
Lity,  and  precision,  but  not  the  full  complement  of 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  197 

elegance  or  grace.  The  sixteenth  century  was  re- 
served  as  the  great  period  of  draughtsmen,  reveal- 
ing as  it  did  Leonardo,  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael, 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Correggio,  Ti- 
tian, Tintoretto,  Paolo  Veronese,  Diii-er,  Holbein. 
It  combined  power,  grace,  rhythm,  motion,  life,  all 
things,  and  is  the  one  epoch  of  splendor  in  paint- 
ing that  has  never  been  surpassed. 

The  Florentines  and  Romans  were  the  greatest 
in  pui'e  line,  the  Venetians  being  perhaps  more  re- 
markable for  painting  than  drawing,  though  not  by 
any  means  inferior  draughtsmen.  Painters  more 
than  draughtsmen  is  the  word  that  may  be  ap- 
plied to  Velasquez,  Rubens,  and  Rembrandt,  with- 
out again  undervaluing  their  knowledge  of  line.  At 
the  beginning  of  this  century  the  restored  classic 
held  sway  in  France  under  David,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  first  quarter  of  the  century  Gericault  and  Dela- 
croix began  the  movement  against  it  and  in  favor 
of  naturalistic  drawing  which  is  known  in  art-his- 
tory as  Romanticism.  At  the  present  time  some 
few  traces  of  the  conflict  remain,  but  generally 
speaking,  the  modern  painter  amalgamates  Classi- 
cism and  Romanticism,  and  produces  what  may  be 
called  a  Naturalism  for  lack  of  a  better  word.  Some 
of  the  draughtsmen  who  show  early  classic  or  aca- 
demic training  in  their  work  are  still  alive,  or  liave 
but  recently  dieJ,  and  their  work  is  to-day  unrivalled 


198  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

in  its  way.  They  are  men  like  Paul  Baudry,  Caba- 
nel,  Lefebvre,  Gerome,  whose  names  have  become 
almost  household  words  with  us. 


Composition.  We  may  define  composition  as  the 
putting  together  of  the  elements  of  a  picture.  It 
is  not  strictly  a  matter  of  arranging  lines  alone, 
but  includes  in  its  scope  perspective,  color,  values, 
and  light-and-shade  ;  for  these  form  a  part  of  that 
perfect  arrangement  which  a  good  picture  requires. 
Indeed,  composition  of  a  certain  sort  may  be  ef- 
fected almost  without  line,  by  the  massing  of  light 
and  shade  as  exemplified  in  some  of  the  pictures  of 
Rembrandt  (Fig.  5)  and  his  school ;  and  also  by  the 
massing  of  colors  and  lights  as  shown  in  the  work 
of  Monticelli,  Monet,  Pissaro,  and  others.  It  is  not 
my  intention,  however,  to  speak  of  these  forms  of 
composition  just  now.  It  is  better  perhaps,  for  sim- 
plicity's sake,  that  we  confine  ourselves  as  closely  as 
possible  to  line  composition. 

To  begin  with,  I  wish  to  call  attention  at  once  to 
the  first  and  the  most  important  requisite  of  compo- 
sition, namely,  unity.  An  object  in  a  picture  is  very 
much  like  a  note  in  a  bar  of  music  ;  its  value  does 
not  come  fx*om  its  individual  consideration,  though  it 
may  be  perfect  in  itself,  but  rather  from  its  relation 


DRAWING    AND    COMPOSITION  199 

to  other  objects.  The  wheel  of  a  machine,  the  block 
of  a  building,  the  petal  of  a  flower  are  of  little  con- 
sequence in  themselves,  but  as  factors  in  making  up 
a  complete  whole  they  have  a  certain  relative  value. 
The  figure  in  the  room,  of  which  I  spoke  some  time 
ago,  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  room  as  the  chairs, 
the  rugs,  and  the  wall-papers.  Comparatively,  the 
same  light  strikes  the  one  as  the  others,  and  the 
same  air  surrounds  them  all.  Give  the  figure  an 
undue  amount  of  light  or  dark,  and  it  becomes  false 
in  value  and  out  of  place  ;  give  it  too  high  or  too 
low  a  coloring,  and  it  is  out  of  place  ;  give  it  too 
much  perspective  or  exaggerated  strength  of  line, 
and  again  it  is  out  of  place.  That  which  gives  all 
the  objects  in  the  room  their  proper  positions  and 
relations  is  the  similarity  of  the  conditions  under 
which  they  are  seen  ;  and  should  an  artist  attempt 
to  paint  the  figure  in  the  room  without  regarding 
the  sun'oundings,  a  false-valued,  disconnected,  and 
(inferentially)  badly-composed  picture  would  be  the 
result. 

Isolated  objects  cannot  be  huddled  into  a  pic- 
torial composition,  as  people  are  sometimes  hurried 
into  matrimony,  with  the  idea  that,  though  they  do 
not  care  for  each  other  at  first,  they  will  become 
more  congenial  by  association.  Matrimonial  com- 
positions of  tliis  sort  may  possibly  I'esult  in  an  af- 
finity by  mutual  concessions  ;  but  in  })ic'torial  com- 


200  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

positions  the  ill-matched  figure  concedes  nothing. 
He  stands  aloof  and  uncompromising.  He  is  an 
eagle  in  a  crow's  nest  or  a  crow  in  an  eagle's  nest, 
as  the  case  may  be,  and  is  sadly  out  of  place.  Ob- 
jects need  not  be  of  a  kind,  nor  of  a  color ;  but  in 
naturalistic  painting,  whatever  their  kind  or  color- 
ing, if  seen  together  it  must  be  under  like  con- 
ditions of  light,  and  shade,  and  atmosphere.  "A 
work  should  be  all  of  a  piece,  and  people  and  things 
should  be  there  for  an  end,"  says  Millet ;  and  in 
oi'der  that  they  be  painted  "  all  of  a  piece,"  they 
should  be  so  seen  and  conceived  by  the  painter. 
The  scene  must  be  first  regarded  from  a  compre- 
hensive point  of  view  and  the  question  asked  : 
"  What  is  the  appearance  of  the  whole  ?  "  not 
"  What  are  the  details  of  a  part  ? "  Some  of  the 
academicians,  David,  Ingres,  Lethi^re,  and  even 
Bouguereuu,  Cabanel,  and  Gerome,  have  seen  fit  in 
certain  of  their  pictures  to  exaggerate  strength  of 
line,  and  thus  give  only  separate  figures  where  there 
should  be  a  uniform  group  ;  but  disregard  of  unity, 
though  it  may  be  atoned  for  by  a  beauty  of  line, 
can  hardly  be  set  down  as  a  virtue  even  in  academic 
composition. 

As  an  aid  to  unity  in  composition  may  be  men- 
tioned, first,  simplicity.  It  undoubtedly  displays  a 
great  deal  of  skill  to  compose  a  many-figured, 
many-lined  picture  like  Raphael's  School  of  Athens, 


XIX.  — SiGNORElLi,    Tn-   Curse   ^detall   from   Last   Judgment). 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  201 

and  the  art  of  the  artist  should  not  be  overlooked  ; 
but  so  complicated  a  composition  is  not  readily  un- 
derstood by  the  mind,  nor  grasped  as  a  unit  by  the 
eye.  As  far  as  the  meaning  of  a  picture  is  con- 
cerned, it  should  be  intelligible  almost  at  a  glance 
and  as  a  whole.  The  unravelling  of  its  meaning  by 
examining  first  one  part,  and  then  another  part,  and 
finally  drawing  a  conclusion  from  the  sum  of  infor- 
mation received,  can  hardly  be  called  efiective  pic- 
torial work.  Moreover,  there  is,  or  should  be,  an 
epigrammatic  smack  about  all  great  truths.  To  tell 
them  simply  is  a  mark  of  greatness  in  itself.  None 
knew  this  better  than  the  old  masters.  The  "  Musi- 
cians "  by  Giorgione,  the  "  Frari  Madonna  "  by  Bel- 
lini, some  of  the  pictures  by  Piero  della  Francesca, 
and  aU  of  the  pictures  by  Velasquez,  are  so  many 
cases  in  point.  It  requires  the  audacity  of  genius 
to  place  people  around  a  table  and  paint  them 
all  bolt  upright  quietl}'  looking  out  of  the  canvas, 
yet  this  is  what  Rembrandt  did  in  his  "Syndics 
of  the  Cloth  Hall "  at  Amsterdam  ;  it  requires 
genius  again  to  paint  portraits  with  a  few  per- 
pendicular lines,  head  erect  and  eye  alert,  yet  this 
is  what  Mantegna  and  Antonello  da  Messina  did. 
Simple,  unaffected,  natural  at  times  to  stiffness, 
the  pictures  of  these  men  come  to  us  to-day  with 
a  directness  that  argues  greatness ;  and  for  that 
directness  we  are  sometimes  indebted  to  another 


202  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

aid  to  unity  in  composition,  namely,  eflfective  con- 
centration. 

The  statement  was  ventured,  in  speaking  of  light- 
and-shade,  that  in  almost  every  well-composed 
picture  there  is  a  point  of  high  light,  or  of  high 
color,  from  which  there  is  a  gradation  to  lesser 
lights  and  colors.  Now,  there  is  also  a  chief  object 
or  objects  which  bear  relation  to  the  inferior  objects 
in  the  same  ratio  as  the  lights  to  the  shades.  And 
there  is  also  one  point  of  sight  and  one  horizon 
line  toward  which  the  lines  which  make  up  the 
focus  of  the  eye  bear  a  relation  or  are  meant  to 
converge.  All  of  these  art-means  in  composition 
should  work  together  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
before  the  eye,  directly  and  simply,  one  view,  one 
idea,  one  picture.  There  cannot  be  (that  is,  argu- 
ing from  the  master-pieces  of  past  art),  in  an  effec- 
tively-composed picture,  two  views  or  two  ideas, 
any  more  than  in  the  play  or  novel  there  can  be 
two  heroes.  Hamlet  is  pre-eminent  and  brooks  no 
rival.  He  is  the  apex  of  the  pyramid,  and  all  the 
scenery,  coloring,  and  people  of  the  play  are  but 
the  bases  upon  which  he  stands.  Painting  is  not 
unlike  the  drama  in  this  respect.  The  attention  of 
the  eye  is  caught  by  the  converging  lines,  lights, 
and  colors,  and  is  directed  toward  one  point  of  in- 
terest. It  could  not  very  well  be  caught  and  di- 
rected toward  two  points  of  intei'est.     To  be  sure, 


DRAWIJSTG   AND   COMPOSITION  203 

Eaphael,  in  Lis  celebrated  picture  of  the  "Transfig- 
uration," gives  us  an  example  of  the  violation  of 
this  generally  accepted  law  of  composition.  The 
group  of  people  at  the  bottom  is  separately  put 
together  and  separately  lighted  ;  it  has  one  point  of 
sight  and  one  leading  object.  The  group  at  the 
top  forms  another  picture,  with  its  own  sight- 
point  and  light  again  (Fig.  9).  But  the  result  is 
not  a  successful  piece  of  composition,  even  though 
Raphael  himself  composed  it.  The  "Transfigura- 
tion "  is  not  one  united  picture,  but  two  pictures 
upon  one  canvas.  The  "Marriage  in  Caua,"  by 
Paolo  Veronese,  is  another  example  of  a  double 
picture  ;  and  in  not  a  few  of  the  Bolognese  pict- 
ures, representing  angels  in  the  clouds  and  kneeling 
saints  upon  the  earth  below  them,  there  is  a  like 
disregard  of  the  one  point  of  sight  and  the  united 
group.  But  the  consensus  of  art-opinion  has  always 
been  against  these  pictures  in  their  composition, 
however  much  it  may  have  conceded  to  them  in 
other  features. 

In  modern  times,  since  the  monumental  canvas 
and  the  historical  fresco  have  been  largely  aban- 
doned in  favor  of  small  easel  pictures,  less  atten- 
tion is  paid  to  concentration,  especially  by  the 
young  men,  than  perhaps  there  should  be.  Many 
of  the  fjenre  painters  devote  themselves  to  the  re- 
alization of  the  intiiiit<ly  little  ill   any  and  all  parts 


204  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

of  their  pictures,  anticipating,  rightly  enough,  that 
Fashion  will  visit  the  gallery,  glass  in  hand,  to  ex- 
amine shoe -buckles  and  point-lace,  regardless  of 
points  of  sight,  sky-lines,  and  picture  planes.  Nev- 
ertheless, and  in  spite  of  the  Meissonier  imitators, 
who  do  that  really  strong  technician  small  honor, 
there  is  a  well-grounded  reasonable  requirement  un- 
derlying the  making  of  pictures  which  calls  for  the 
relation  if  not  the  concentration  of  lines,  lights,  and 
colors  ;  and  I  repeat,  the  object  of  this  is  little  more 
than  singleness  of  effect,  oneness  of  appearance. 
Unity,  I  take  it,  is  an  essential  of  composition,  for 
though  there  is  a  beauty  in  method,  a  something 
to  be  admired  about  the  flow  or  fall  of  lines,  yet 
this  is  secondary  to  the  main  purpose,  which  is  to 
convey  the  scene  as  a  whole.  If  composition  does 
not  somehow  aid  conception  by  a  forcible  presen- 
tation of  certain  objects,  lights,  and  colors,  then  it 
has  failed  in  what  is  generally  considered  its  chief 
requirement. 

The  subject  treated  and  the  individuality  of  the 
artist  usually  dictate  the  kind  of  arrangement  to  be 
used,  as  we  have  noted  was  the  case  in  drawing. 
There  is,  of  course,  some  conventionality  about  the 
commoner  and  older  forms  of  line,  and  some  gener- 
ally accepted  truths  which  may  be  mentioned.  The 
perpendicular  line  is  usually  conceded  to  be  one  of 
dignity,  severity,  or  even  majesty,  and  is  often  em- 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  205 

ployed  in  portraits,  groups  of  figures,  interiors,  and 
architectural  pieces.  Some  of  the  finest  portraits 
in  the  whole  realm  of  art  are  those  by  the  Italians 
where  the  sitter  is  painted  in  an  erect  position,  with 
the  lines  of  the  clothing  simple,  severe,  and  even 
hard  (Fig.  15).  The  early  Italian  portraits  in  the 
Ufiizzi  ajj  Florence,  Palma's  "St.  Barbara  "in  Ven- 
ice, Benozzo  Gozzoli's  "Journey  of  the  Magi"  (Fig. 
16),  and  Regnault's  "Execution"  in  the  Louvre  at 
Paris,  will  serve  as  illustrations  of  this  line  in 
painting  ;  and  if  you  would  see  its  efifect  in  sculpt- 
ure, look  sometime  when  j'ou  are  in  Florence,  at 
the  fine  marble  of  "St.  George"  by  Donatello,  or 
the  modern  bronze  of  "  Jeanne  d'Arc  "  by  Fremiet, 
in  Paris. 

The  horizontal  line  is  one  of  repose,  or  perhaps 
of  solemnity.  An  outstretched  landscape  with  its 
horizon  and  low  sky-line,  the  tops  of  rows  of  trees 
and  fences,  the  low  marshes,  the  sea-shore,  or  the 
distant  lines  of  the  sea  itself,  all  show  it.  Aside 
from  the  modem  employment  of  it  in  landscape, 
military  scenes  (Fig.  17),  and  marines,  the  old  Vene- 
tian masters  used  it  for  reclining  figures  ;  it  was 
known  to  the  Egyptians  and  Assyrians— in  fact  it 
was  about  the  only  style  of  composition  they  did 
know,  as  the  processional  scenes  on  the  walls  of  the 
tombs  and  temples  show  to  this  day  ;  it  was  also 
used  by  the  Greeks  both  in  sculpture  and  in  paint- 


206  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

ing  ;  and  a  rather  unique  use  was  recently  made  of 
it  in  a  long,  slim  picture  now  in  the  Amsterdam 
Museum,  by  Jan  van  Beers  the  Belgian,  called  the 
"Burial  of  Charles  the  Good,"  in  which  there  is  a 
marching  funeral-train  of  monks  and  knights  in 
chain  armor. 

The  flowing  or  waving  line  has  usually  been 
known  to  us  under  the  rather  sweeping  appella- 
tion of  the  line  of  beauty,  by  which  is  doubtless 
meant  the  line  of  grace.  It  is  especially  adapted 
to  the  human  figure  (Fig.  18),  though  it  may  be- 
long to  animals  and  even  to  landscapes,  where  hill- 
tops, sky-lines,  and  cloud  effects  are  used.  The 
broken  or  abrupt  line  is  generally  supposed  to  be 
one  of  action  and  power.  Signorelli  (Fig.  19)  and 
Michael  Angelo  used  it  with  great  results  in  giving 
hurried  movement  to  the  human  form  ;  many  artists 
have  employed  it  in  battle-pieces  (Fig.  17,  in  the 
sky) ;  and  some  again,  like  Delacroix  and  Barye, 
have  used  it  in  the  drawing  of  animals  in  combat. 
The  diagonal  line  seems  especially  well  fitted  for 
perspective  effects,  such  as  a  roadway  with  trees  and 
a  wall  or  fence  running  along  one  side  of  it  (Fig. 
7) ;  it  is  used  in  sky-line  drawings  where  the  hills 
or  mountains  or  trees  cut  off  part  of  the  view  (Fig. 
20) ;  and  Rubens,  Signorelli,  and  others  have  made 
application  of  it  in  giving  the  rush  or  fall  of  figures 
(Fig.  19).     There  are  some  other  forms  of  line  em* 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  207 

ployed  for  different  purposes  by  different  painters, 
but  as  they  are  generally  arbitrary  with  the  indi" 
vidual,  it  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  speak  of  them. 

There  are  a  number  of  studio  teachings  and  for- 
mulas of  line  in  composition  which  have  a  vogue 
among  artists,  and  doubtless  have  good  reason  for 
existence,  though  to  an  amateur  many  of  them  seem 
rather  arbitrary.     Thus  there  is  a  law  of  repetition 
which  calls  for  the  paralleling  of  one  line  by  an- 
other, as  for  instance,  the  line  of  the  figure  being 
repeated  by  the  lines  of  the  dress  or  the  sofa  upon 
which  the  figure  is  lying  ;  or  the  lines  of  a  ship's 
mast  being  repeated  in  other  distant  ships'  masts. 
Oftentimes  the  repetition  strengthens  the  main  line 
(Figs.  18  and  21),  and  that  is  of  course  the  ostensi- 
ble reason  for  its  use.     There  is  another  law  which 
seems  to  require  that  no  flowing  line   shall  com- 
plete its  course  without  being  broken  by  an  angle — 
for  contrast,  it  is  said,  though  why  it  is  beautiful  or 
agreeable  any  more    than  the  contrast  of  a  snow- 
storm in  Jane  is  not  told  us.     Then  there  is  a  law 
of  continuity  which  requires  that  the  line  of  an  ob- 
ject, though  broken,  must  be  taken  up  and  contin- 
ued farther  on  by  another  object ;  a  law  of  curva- 
ture which  makes  certain  objects  in  a  picture  the 
catch-points  of  curved  lines  (Fig.   21) ;   and  innu- 
merable laws  of  interchange,  radiation,  and  harmony 
laid  down  by  Mr.  Kuskin  and  others,  all  of  which 


208  ART   FOR   ART  S   SAKE 

have  their  uses,  but  none  of  which  can  be  regarded 
as  the  one  and  only  way  of  composing  a  picture. 

Perhaps  the  most  reasonable  of  all  the  laws  of 
composition  is  the  oldest  of  them,  the  law  of  spe- 
cial prominence,  which  requires  the  predominance 
of  one  or  more  leading  objects  at  the  expense  of  all 
the  other  objects  in  the  picture.  As  I  have  already 
intimated,  the  superior  importance  of  one  object  in 
a  group  aids  the  eye  in  finding  the  centre  of  inter- 
est. The  principal  object  draws  the  sight  through 
the  subordination  of  the  other  objects,  just  as  some 
bright  star  in  the  heavens  attracts  attention  through 
the  dimness  of  its  surrounding  constellation.  In 
the  old  Egyptian  paintings  this  law  of  special  prom- 
inence was  enforced  by  giving  exaggei-ated  dimen- 
sions to  the  chief  figure,  because  the  Egyptians  did 
not  know  the  resources  of  high  light  and  high 
color.  The  battle-pieces  upon  the  walls  of  the  pal- 
aces, where  the  king  in  his  chariot  is  shown  to  be 
several  times  the  size  of  his  enemies  or  his  own  sol- 
diers, are  examples  of  it. 

This  law  was  also  enforced  in  the  pedimental 
sculptures  of  Greece,  and  in  early  Italian  painting, 
but  in  the  latter  it  was  not  quite  the  Egyptian 
method  which  was  followed.  The  Italians  did  not 
(except  at  the  start)  enlarge  the  principal  figure, 
but  elevated  it  above  the  other  figures,  as  instanced 
in  the  countless  pictures  of  the  Madonna  Enthroned. 


DRAWING   AND   COMPOSITION  209 

The  madonna  was  raised  toward  the  apex  of  a 
pyramid  and  surrounded  with  arabesques  or  archi- 
tectural cohimns,  and  at  the  base  of  the  pyramid 
on  either  side  were  placed  kneeling  or  standing 
saints,  one  group  balancing  the  other.  This  style 
of  composition,  known  as  the  symmetrical  style,  of 
which  almost  all  the  early  crucifixions  are  examples, 
is  well  shown  in  the  work  of  Cimabue  and  his  fol- 
lowers, and  later  in  the  paintings  of  Filippo  Lippi, 
Mantegna,  Bellini,  even  Correggio  (Fig.  22),  and 
others.  It  was  well  fitted  to  the  religious  nature 
of  their  subjects,  its  lines  being  simple  and  digni- 
fied, and  perhaps  it  originated  in  a  wish  to  picture 
the  Madonna  or  the  Christ  in  an  exalted  position, 
corresponding  to  Biblical  description  or  tradition. 
Art  was  not  then  at  its  highest  pitch,  but  when  the 
Renaissance  was  fully  inaugurated  this  symmetrical 
style  of  composition  changed  somewhat,  though  the 
law  of  prominence  was  not  laid  aside.  Instead  of 
having  two  saints  on  one  side  of  the  picture  to  com- 
plement two  bishops  on  the  other  side,  or  some- 
thing of  that  nature,  the  equilibrium  was  maintained 
by  irregular  groups,  as  may  be  seen  in  Raphael's 
"  School  of  Athens,"  Andrea  del  Sarto's  "  Birth  of 
the  Virgin,"  Botticelli's  "Calumny"  (Fig.  23),  and 
the  large  figure  pieces  of  the  Venetians.  It  was  a 
balance  not  by  numbers  but  by  masses  or  groups, 
and  as  it  allowed  some  latitude  to  the  artist,  it 
14 


210  AET    FOE   ART^S    SAKE 

superseded  to  some   extent  without  entirely  doino 
away  with  the  previous  style. 

As  the  study  of  composition  advanced  the  styles 
of  arrangement  fitted  to  different  subjects  were 
increased.  Thus  there  was  an  oval  composition 
wherein  the  lines  of  the  figures  or  the  draperies 
made  the  circle  of  the  canvas,  as  shown  in  Rapha- 
el's "  Madonna  della  Sedia,"  Solario's  "  Madonna  of 
the  Green  Cushion,"  and  Botticelli's  "  Madonna  and 
Angels"  in  the  Uffizi  (Fig.  21).  There  was  also 
an  arch  composition,  as  shown  in  Andrea  del  Sar- 
to's  "  Madonna  of  the  Sack,"  in  Florence,  in  Cor- 
reggio's  "Coronation  of  the  Virgin,"  at  Parma,  in 
Francia's  "Pieta,"  National  Gallery,  London  (Fig. 
24),  and  in  Fra  Bartolomraeo's  "  Descent  from  the 
Cross,"  in  the  Pitti.  In  the  "  Sistine  Madonna  " 
there  appears  to  be  a  diamond-shaped  composition, 
the  Madonna  and  Child  forming  the  upper  acute 
angle  of  the  diamond.  Pope  Sixtus  and  St.  Barbara 
the  wide  part,  and  the  two  cherubs  below  the  lower 
acute  angle.  Rubens,  in  one  of  his  kermess  pict- 
ures, has  a  circular  composition  in  the  shape  of  a 
band  of  peasants  with  hands  clasped,  forming  a 
large  ring  ;  and  Raphael's  "  Punishment  of  the 
Sorcerer  "  has  a  similar  arrangement.  Some  paint- 
ers again  employed  a  concave  arrangement,  where- 
in the  lines  began  with  the  figures  at  the  side  and 
circled  in  toward  the  middle-distance  ;  other  paint- 


DRAWING    AND    COMPOSITION  211 

ers  reversed  this  style  and  produced  the  convex, 
wherein  the  figures  began  in  the  middle  and  bent 
around  and  back  toward  the  distant  sides. 

In  landscape  the  composition-schemes  have  been 
still  more  numerous,  and  the  arrangements  of  sky- 
lines, hill-lines,  and  tree-lines  many.  Some  painters, 
like  Cuyp,  Van  Goyen,  and  Hobbema,  have  drawn  a 
diagonal  line  from  one  corner  of  the  canvas  to  the 
other,  using  one  triangle  for  mountains,  buildings, 
trees,  or  something  that  would  produce  dark,  and 
the  other  triangle  for  sky  or  something  that  would 
produce  light  (Fig.  20).  Other  painters,  like  Claude 
and  Turner,  have  used  a  sky-line  resembling  an 
open  letter  V  cut  out  of  the  top  of  the  canvas,  the 
bottom  of  the  letter  corresponding  to  the  point 
of  sight,  and  the  diagonal  sides  the  converging  lines 
of  buildings,  trees,  or  mountains  (Fig.  7).  Other 
artists,  like  Rousseau,  Daubigny,  Cazin,  have  used 
the  undulatory  and  the  straight  line  running  across 
the  centre  of  the  canvas,  broken  here  and  there  by 
trees,  or  buildings,  or  mountains  again. 

In  modern  composition  the  styles  are  so  many  and 
so  defiant  of  law  or  formula,  that  it  would  be  quite 
useless  to  attempt  their  description.  Almost  all  of 
them,  however,  are  modifications  of  the  earlier  styles, 
or  in  some  way  lean  upon  the  old-established  princi- 
ples of  prominence  and  concentration — the  results 
of   modern   Impressionism   always  excepted.      The 


212  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

Egyptian  with  his  enlarged  figure,  and  the  early 
Italian  with  his  elevated  Madonna,  find  their  paral- 
lel in  the  modern  painter  with  his  highly-lighted 
or  highly-colored  figure.  "Diana  Surprised,"  the 
masterpiece  of  that  academic  draughtsman,  Jules 
Lefebvre,  is  a  good  example  of  the  old  pyramidal 
style  of  composition  with  modern  improvements. 
Diana  stands  central  in  the  picture,  supported  by 
her  nymphs  on  either  side,  whom  she  not  only 
towers  above  in  height,  but  outshines  in  light  and 
color. 

There  is  still  an  open  field  for  originality  in  com- 
position, and  many  seek  it ;  but  unfortunately  most 
of  the  discoveries  are  only  novelties  of  fashion,  or 
revolts  against  all  method,  possessed  of  few  abiding 
truths.  Still  even  these  are  entitled  to  respectful 
consideration,  if  not  always  acceptance.  It  would 
be  absurd  to  attempt  the  binding  of  art  to  certain 
forms  or  styles  of  composition.  As  well  try  to  limit 
the  expression  of  poetry  to  certain  metres  and 
stanzas.  The  choice  of  arrangement  is  a  part  of 
the  individual  genius  of  the  artist,  valuable  for  its 
very  individuality,  and  the  attempt  to  confine  it 
within  prescribed  limits  could  only  result  in  the  de- 
struction of  the  art-spirit  by  meclianical  repetition. 
It  is  with  composition  as  with  drawing  ;  any  un- 
yielding rule  is  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing.  For 
nature  scorns  all  rules  and  genius  binds  itself  only 


DRAWING    AXD    COMPOSITION  213 

by  its  own.  There  are  certain  large  principles  which 
in  a  general  way  may  be  adhered  to  in  composition, 
such  as  unity,  concentration  and  prominence,  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  emphasize  ;  but  the  application 
of  these  principles  is  a  part  of  art  itself  for  which 
we  cannot  make  absolute  rules  and  may  judge  only 
by  results. 


LECTURE  Vn. 

TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK 

I  HAVE  reserved  for  this  last  lecture  some  consid- 
erations upon  the  skill  of  the  artist  as  shown  in  the 
handling  of  the  brush  ;  and  I  wish  to  call  your  at- 
tention, first,  to  the  necessity  for  that  skill  in  the 
rendering  of  textures  and  surfaces. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  there  were  two 
features  of  objects  whereby  we  could  determine 
their  physical  nature,  aside  from  their  association 
with  other  objects  ;  their  form  and  their  coloring. 
There  is  still  a  third,  their  surface  appearance  or 
texture.  The  first  of  these  three  features  is  gener- 
ally the  one  that  possesses  the  most  meaning  to  our 
American  eyes.  Possibly  this  is  for  a  reason,  already 
noted,  that  the  English-speaking  nations  have  been 
educated  upon  line  more  than  upon  color  or  light. 
There  is  with  them  a  severity  at  the  expense  of  the 
sensuous,  which  makes  more  of  form  than  eitlier  or 
any  of  the  other  features.  While,  therefore,  our 
training  has  in  away  made  us  quick  enough  to  grasp 
colored  line-suggestions  iu  art,  it  has  likewise  made 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK      215 

us  slow  to  grasp  colored  light-suggestions  or  text- 
ares.  Au  oblong  square  of  mixed  colors  lying  upon 
the  floor  in  front  of  a  lounge  assures  us  at  once  that 
the  painter  of  it  meant  to  portray  perhaps  a  Turkisli 
rug.  It  may  be  as  hard  as  granite,  as  thin  as  sheet- 
ii-on,  and  as  smooth  as  glass,  but  somehow  we  do  not 
seem  to  mind  that.  The  artist  intended  it  for  a  rug, 
and  we,  by  laying  hold  of  line  and  color  only,  easily 
cajole  our  imagination  into  thinking  that  it  is  one. 
But  now,  what  is  the  strong  feature  of  a  rug ?  Line? 
No  more  than  it  is  the  strong  feature  of  a  heap  of 
leaves.  Color  ?  Yes,  somewhat,  though  a  rug  may 
be  colorless  and  still  be  a  rug.  What  then  is  its 
striking  peculiarity,  unless  it  be  its  surface  appear- 
ance? The  uneven  distribution,  absorption,  or  re- 
flection of  light  is  the  chief  cause  of  its  textural 
appearance,  and  by  its  texture  we  are  able  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  a  piece  of  matting,  a  piece  of  oil- 
cloth, or  a  piece  of  tin.  The  fabric  is  loosely  woven, 
shaggy,  heavy,  has  a  moss-like  softness  about  it,  and 
is,  in  fact,  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  hardness, 
thinness,  or  smoothness  ;  yet  our  supposed  painter, 
while  emphasizing  its  line  and  suggesting  its  color, 
fails  to  render  those  qualities  of  its  texture  which 
may  be  said  to  make  its  character. 

•'  We  ought  to  commend  that  strength  of  vivid 
expression  whicli  is  necessary  to  convey  in  its  full 
force  the  highest  sense  of  the   most  complete  efi'ect 


216  ART   E^OR   art's   SAKE 

of  art,"  says  Sir  Joshua.  Surely  the  truthful  ren- 
dering of  the  surfaces  of  objects  is  as  much  a  part 
of  "  the  complete  effect  of  art  "  as  their  drawing  or 
their  coloi-ing.  How  can  there  be  "a  strength  of 
vivid  expression  "  in  a  face  that  is  not  made  up 
of  the  flesh  and  blood  of  humanity,  but  is  a  pink 
and  white  porcelain  face  like  that  of  a  French 
doll !  How  can  there  be  any  "  vivid  expression " 
in  a  copper  kettle  that  looks  as  soft  as  a  pump- 
kin, or  in  a  sheep  that  looks  as  hard  as  a  tomb- 
stone, or  in  a  table-cloth  that  looks  as  rigid  as  a 
square  of  zinc !  A  surface  robbed  of  its  character 
is  a  vacancy  ;  and  how  many  things  in  nature  are 
dependent  almost  entirely  uj)on  their  surfaces  for 
identity,  we  may  come  to  know  by  considering  an 
ordinary  ball-room  illustration.  Suppose  a  woman 
dressed  in  yellow  tulle.  The  fabric  is  loosely  woven, 
reflects  no  light  of  importance,  is  semi-transparent, 
gauzy,  cloud-like.  Suppose  her  wearing  yellow  rib- 
bons— I  do  not  know  if  that  would  be  considered 
"  good  style,"  but  let  us  suppose  the  case.  One  side 
of  the  ribbon  shows  a  silk  surface,  closely  woven, 
but  reflecting  little  light,  and  dull  in  coloring  ;  the 
reverse  side  shows  perhaps  a  satin  surface,  glossy, 
bright  in  color,  reflecting  a  great  deal  more  light 
than  the  silk  side.  Suppose  her  wearing  some  gold 
ornaments  ;  the  metal  is  hard,  compact,  metallic, 
polished,  shining   with  light.     Suppose,  lastly,  the 


XXI, -   BOTTICELLI,    Mjdor.na   and   Angels. 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  217 

woman  has  yellow  hair ;  it  is  not  a  woven  nor  a 
metallic  surface,  but  a  mass  of  fine  lines  which,  seen 
as  a  mass,  is  dull  in  parts  and  has  some  sheen  in 
others,  is  light,  wavy,  fluff}',  elastic.  Here  are  five 
different  materials  not  strongly  distinguished  by 
their  drawing,  for  they  have  few  hard  lines,  not 
strongly  distinguished  by  their  coloring,  for  they  are 
aU  yellow,  and  yet  distinctly  five  different  materials 
by  virtue  of  their  light-reflecting  surfaces.  Should 
we  extend  the  illustration  and  consider  the  great 
difference  between  the  flesh  of  her  arm  and  the 
glove  below  it,  between  the  ivory  of  her  fan  and 
the  roses  at  her  waist,  between  the  shining  leather 
of  her  slipper  and  the  floor  she  stands  upon,  we 
should  have  little  difficulty  in  believing  that  a 
strength  in  their  vivid  expression  in  painting  would 
be  necessary  to  "the  most  complete  effect  of  art." 
Almost  every  object  in  the  world  about  us  has  its 
peculiar  texture,  and  if  we  are  to  have  an  art  that 
truly  represents  nature  the  painter  must  render 
these  textures  as  they  appear.  Flat  paint  will  not 
at  one  and  the  same  time  convej'^  the  various  im- 
pressions of  different  objects,  however  true  the 
drawing  and  local  coloring. 

Mr.   Ruskin  has   classified  textures   under  three 
heads : 

"1.  Lustrous,  as  of  water  and  glass. 

"  2.  Bloomy  or  velvety,  as  of  a  rose  leaf  or  peach. 


218  ART   FOR   art's    SAKE 

"  3.  Linear,  produced  by  filaments  or  threads, 
as  in  feathers,  fur,  hair,  and  woven  or  reticulated 
tissues." 

I  repeat  the  classification  for  what  it  is  worth, 
which  is  something,  though  I  would  suggest  that 
you  do  not  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  among 
all  the  things  created  there  are  but  three  kinds  of 
surfaces,  and  that  three  methods  of  painting  will 
render  them  all.  The  human  race  may  be  classified 
under  five  or  six  heads,  but  from  that  it  does  not 
follow  that  the  make-up  of  an  Italian  is  quite  that  of 
an  Englishman,  though  both  be  of  the  Caucasian 
branch.  Each  object  in  nature,  though  it  may  be- 
long to  a  class,  is  peculiar  in  its  surface  construc- 
tion, and  its  peculiarity  in  this  respect  may  estab- 
lish its  pictorial  character.  The  portrayal  of  this 
pictorial  character  cannot  be  done  by  any  one  or  any 
three  formulas  for  "  doing  "  textures.  The  brush 
must  adapt  itself  to  the  material  which  it  seeks  to 
reproduce,  not  necessarily  by  painting  smoothly  for 
smooth  textures  and  roughly  for  rough  textures, 
but  by  emphasizing  the  striking  features.  In  every- 
day life  we  have  a  way  of  looking  at  things  in  mass, 
and  receiving  impressions  of  their  salient  features 
at  a  glance.  For  instance,  we  rise  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, look  out  of  the  window,  and  say  to  ourselves  it 
is  clear,  it  is  cloudy,  or  it  rains  ;  we  do  not  analyze, 
reason  over,  and  sum  up  the  matter  by  counting 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK      219 

sunbeams,  dark  clouds,  or  rain-drops.  We  receive 
instantly  a  truthful  impression  gathered  from  one 
or  two  strong  appearances.  So,  again,  we  come  into 
a  libraiy,  cast  a  look  about  us,  and  gain  an  idea  at 
once  of  the  whole  interior.  Under  foot  is  a  hard 
shiny  substance  which  we  see  is  a  waxed  floor,  upon 
it  lie  some  plush-like  looking  squares  which  we  see 
are  rugs,  before  a  lounge  is  a  dark  hairy  mass  that 
we  know  is  a  bear-skin,  the  curtains  hang  in  heavy 
lustreless  folds,  the  books  in  the  cases  have  a  leath- 
ery look,  the  lamps  a  dull  bronze  look,  the  and- 
irons a  bright  brass  look.  None  of  these  objects 
impresses  us  by  its  minute  details,  but  by  its 
general  appearance,  its  striking  peculiarity.  Soft 
peai-1-like  lustre  reveals  the  character  of  a  porcelain 
vase,  transparency  and  reflection  reveal  that  of  a 
crystal  paper-weight,  and  flufly  volume  that  of  a 
feather  duster.  The  skilful  painters  of  textures 
seize  and  record  these  peculiarities  ;  some  o*  them 
by  careful  and  detailed  use  of  the  point  of  the 
brush,  like  Alma-Tadema  ;  others  by  broad  sweeps 
of  the  flat  of  the  brush,  like  Vollon. 

The  manner  of  execution  is  a  matter  of  individual 
choice  and  temperament.  There  is  no  trick  about 
it,  or  it  might  be  readily  taught.  The  young  wom- 
an's belief  that  the  artist  who  paints  the  copper 
kettle  so  beautifully  must  mix  copper  with  his  pig- 
ments has  no  foundation   in  fact.     It   is  merely  a 


220  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

part  of  the  painter's  technic  corresponding  to  that 
of  the  draughtsman  or  the  engraver.  This  skill  of 
hand  is  sometimes  astonishing  in  its  production  of 
realistic  effects.  In  the  Metropolitan  Museum  is  a 
small  picture  by  Bargue  of  a  Bashi-Bazouk  seated 
on  a  stone,  which  will  well  repay  a  close  study  of  its 
painting.  The  work  is  smooth,  detailed,  and  quite 
perfect  in  its  textures.  Flesh,  stone,  copper,  china, 
silver,  silk  may  be  as  readily  identified  as  though 
the  model  sat  before  us.  This  is  a  good  instance  of 
minute  texture-painting,  but  there  are  other  paint- 
ers, like  our  own  Mr.  Chase,  who  are  equally  deft 
with  their  fingers  in  a  broader  way,  and  can,  with  a 
few  brush-strokes,  paint  you  silk,  satin,  and  plush 
so  that  you  would  instantly  know  them  apart. 

Many  painters,  however,  are  so  faulty  in  this  re- 
spect that  some  warning  against  their  work  is  nec- 
essary. Almost  all  of  them  can  give  us  form  and 
color,  in  a  recognizable  way  at  least,  but  the  artist 
who  can  paint  wood  here,  copper  there,  and  silk 
elsewhere,  is  not  so  very  frequently  met  with.  If 
we  examine  the  works  of  Mr.  Watts,  the  English- 
man, an  artist  of  no  mean  ability  but  a  poor  painter, 
we  shall  find  that  his  flesh  looks  like  his  cloth,  his 
cloth  like  his  marble,  his  marble  like  his  Cupid- 
wings,  and  his  Cupid-wings  like  a  mixture  of  pal- 
ette scrapings.  Everything  is  painted  alike,  with 
the  same  brush-stroke  and  the  same  heavy,  impene- 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK     221 

trable  pigment.  Inability  to  paint  different  sur- 
faces with  skill  appears  to  be  a  failing  of  the  Eng- 
lish school,  with  some  exceptions  of  course,  and  the 
Germans  are  little  cleverer  of  hand.  The  Dussel- 
dorf  school,  fond  of  allegories  and  the  dramatic 
scenes  from  history,  has  taught  its  disciples  to  paint 
a  marble  column  that  looks  like  putty,  and  to  place 
a  splash  of  whitewash  along  the  side  of  it  for  sun- 
light ;  to  paint  Greek  costume  as  hard  and  rigid  as 
it  is  usually  seen  in  sculpture  ;  to  paint  roads  like 
mortar-beds  ;  and  stone  buildings  like  whitewashed 
wooden  ones.  The  Miinich  school  is  much  better, 
but  still  persists  in  painting  flesh  that  looks  like 
sooty  dough,  and  sunlight  on  polished  furniture 
which  looks  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  copious 
sprinkling  of  white  powder. 

In  every  school  are  painters  with  a  popular  and 
an  exaggerated  reputation,  who  are  notably  faulty 
in  texture-painting.  To  be  disagreeably  partic- 
ular, I  may  mention  as  examples  Eichter,  of  the 
German  school,  Holman  Hunt  and  Burne-Jones, 
of  the  English  school,  Bouguereau  of  the  French 
school,  and  a  great  many  of  the  older  painters  of 
the  American  school.  In  landscape  painting  the 
sins  of  omission  and  commission  are  even  more  fre- 
quent than  in  genre  or  figure  painting.  It  seems  to 
be  thought  by  some  people  that  the  accurate  paint- 
ing of  surfaces  is  requisite  in   the  case  of  bright 


222  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

things  only ;  that  a  copper  basin,  a  wine-glass,  an 
apple,  and  a  table-knife  must  show  smooth  textures 
by  patches  of  high  light,  but  that  the  broken  waving 
lights  and  shades  of  forest  foliage,  the  carpeted 
green  of  a  lawn,  the  lustreless  brown  of  a  freshly 
ploughed  field,  may  be  painted  in  almost  any  way 
provided  one  gets  the  local  coloring  right.  This 
would  seem  an  error.  The  very  beauty  of  a  cloud 
is  its  formless  drifting  nature,  its  floating  lightness  ; 
paint  it  hard  and  motionless  in  the  sky  like  an  ice- 
berg in  a  sea  of  blue  glass,  and  all  the  charm  of  the 
upper  air  is  gone.  The  foliage  is  to  our  eyes  foli- 
age for  the  one  reason  that  it  is  made  up  of  many 
leaves  dancing,  changing,  intermingling  with  each 
other  in  countless  hues  and  shades  ;  paint  each  leaf 
with  shining  edges  of  white  so  that  it  resembles 
a  piece  of  newly-clipped  tin,  and  again  the  beauty 
of  the  forest  is  destroyed.  As  well  paint  wooden 
water  or  leathern  roses  as  take  from  any  substance 
in  nature  that  surface-appearance  which  goes  to  es- 
tablish its  identity.  For  a  characterless  object  in  a 
picture  can  do  no  good,  and  it  has  the  ability  to  do 
much  harm. 

Probably  the  severest  test  of  the  good  or  bad 
texture-painting  of  a  picture  is  to  examine  objects 
apart  from  their  surroundings  and  ask  yourself 
what  they  ai'e  meant  to  represent,  and  whether  they 
represent  it.     Should  you  cut  one  of  Kalf's  or  van 


TEXTURES,  SUKFACEP,  AND  BRUSH  WORK     223 

Aelst's  painted  lemons  into  strips,  you  would  still 
have  lemon  strips  ;  isolated  or  together,  Desgoffe's 
jewelry  is  still  jewelry  ;  and  the  silks,  satins,  and 
marbles  of  Meissonier  and  Alma-Tadema,  no  matter 
where,  or  how  seen,  retain  their  identity. 

But  here  it  is  worth  while  issuing  a  warning 
against  applying  this  test  indiscriminately  to  all 
classes  of  pictures,  and  in  no  case  is  it  to  be  made 
a  determining  test  as  to  whether  a  picture  is  good 
or  not.  Many  pictures,  though  poor  in  texture- 
painting,  excel  by  their  other  merits,  those  of  Mr. 
Watts,  for  instance,  excelling  in  imagination  and 
poetic  conception  ;  and  in  judging  pictures  we  must 
consider  what  the  painter  succeeds  in  doing,  and 
not  be  forever  critical  over  what  he  fails  to  do. 
Again,  though  texture  painting  is  not  wholly  con- 
fined to  small  easel  pictures,  yet  there  is  some 
reason  for  thinking  that  it  should  be.  It  hardly 
comports  with  the  dignity  of  a  very  large  picture 
for  it  to  have  emphasized  surfaces  and  glitters  and 
glares  of  light,  notwithstanding  the  examples  of 
Titian,  Paolo  Veronese,  and  Eubens.  A  cottage 
may  have  a  jH-ofusiou  of  scroll-work  and  ornament 
as  a  little  picture  may  be  elaborate  in  its  finish  ; 
but  the  castle  and  the  wall  painting  require  sim- 
plicity, and  devotion  to  the  larger  elements  of  their 
construction.  The  large  painting  would  seem  to 
stand  or  fall  by  its  cuniposition   or   color;  textures 


224  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

are  not  vitally  important  to  its  existence.  Still' 
life  and  genre  pieces  such  as  the  Dutchmen,  Steen 
and  Terburg  painted,  and  VoUou  and  Mettling 
paint  to-day,  are  the  jjroper  kind  of  pictures  in 
which  to  display  brilliant  texture  -  painting ;  but 
this  cleverness  of  hand  in  small  things  would 
appear  trivial  in  the  pictures  on  the  walls  of  the 
Pantheon  at  Paris.  Moreover,  great  pictorial  ideas 
or  magnitude  of  subject,  require  more  the  artis- 
tic than  the  natural  way  of  presentation.  A  com- 
edy on  the  stage  may  be  given  in  the  ordinary 
speaking  tones  of  the  voice,  but  a  tragedy  requires 
melodramatic  elocution.  The  classicists  David, 
Ingres,  and  others,  as  I  have  intimated  in  a  pre- 
vious lecture,  did  not  paint  clothing  but  drapery, 
and  did  not  draw  the  natural  but  the  classic  line, 
because  these  were  more  appropriate  to  their  he- 
roic themes.  The  Florentines  and  Romans  of  the 
Renaissance  time  worked  in  much  the  same  way. 
Doubtless  in  many  cases  they  failed  to  paint  text- 
ures, because  they  did  not  know  how,  but  this  was 
not  always  the  case.  Judged  by  texture-painting 
alone,  the  celebrated  "  Sistine  Madonna  "  of  Raphael 
at  Dresden  is  a  poor  affair,  the  surfaces  being  rather 
hard  and  diy  throughout  ;  but  to  disabuse  your 
pind  of  the  idea  that  Raphael  did  not  know  how  to 
paint  textures,  you  need  only  to  see  his  portraits  of 
Leo  X.  and  Julius  II.,  in  either  of  which  cloth,  flesh, 


XXII.  — CORRtGGiO.    ,JI,> 


TEXTUIlIiS,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK     225 

hair,  wood,  are  wonderfully  well  rendered,  consid- 
ering the  age  in  which  Raphael  lived. 

There  .-ei^,  however,  few  of  the  Florentines  who 
knew  or  cared  much  about  texture-painting.  Mi- 
chael Angelo,  Leonardo,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  usually 
disregarded  such  embellishments  of  style,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  time  of  the  Venetians  that  brillian- 
cy in  the  painting  of  silks,  velvets,  jewelry,  and  the 
like  began  to  appear.  Giorgione,  Titian,  Tintoretto, 
and  Paolo  Veronese  introduced  all  things  that 
could  add  to  the  splendor  of  effect,  and  with  great 
power,  as  we  shall  note  further  on  ;  but  for  per- 
fection in  texture-painting  they  are  not  perhajis 
so  celebrated  as  the  Dutchmen,  Steen,  Terburg, 
and  Pieter  de  Hooghe  with  their  pots,  tile-floors, 
huckster-stalls,  and  family  groups.  In  modern 
times  the  French,  the  Spanish,  and  the  American 
schools  have  devoted  a  great  deal  of  time  and  en- 
ergy to  surfaces,  perhaps  at  the  expense  of  deeper 
qualities,  but  certainly  not  without  compensating  re- 
sults. The  practice  has  developed  among  the  young 
men  a  great  facility  of  the  brush,  wliich  is  in  itself  a 
pleasing  accomplishment,  and  has  helped  toward  a 
better  and  truer  knowledge  of  nature  by  calling  our 
attention  to  humble  beauties.  Clever  texture-paint- 
ing does  not  of  itself  make  a  great  art,  but  it  pro- 
duces a  strong,  a  virile,  a  healthy  art,  and  when  we 
see  it  combined  with  color  in  tlic  works  of  Stevens, 
15 


226  ART    FOR    ART'S    SAKE 

Vollon,  Chase,  it  takes  upon  itself  an  importance 
and  lias  a  rank  comparable  to  the  best  painting  of 
modern  times. 


Brush-work.  Finally,  I  come  to  speak  of  that 
which  is  intimately  connected  with  the  subject  of 
textures — in  fact  the  manner  of  their  production  in 
painting — the  handling  of  the  brush.  This  may 
strike  you  as  a  slight  part  of  painting,  with  which 
the  outside  world  should  have  little  to  do  ;  and  it  is 
just  because  many  people  think  in  that  way  that  I 
wish  to  take  it  up. 

From  our  own  endeavors  we  oftentimes  content 
ourselves  by  exacting  too  little  ;  from  other  peo- 
ple's endeavors  we  oftentimes  cZiscontent  oiirselves 
by  exacting  too  much.  All  of  us,  in  our  diffei*- 
ent  callings,  are  putting  forth  efforts  to  be  good 
workmen,  and  few  of  us  get  beyond  mere  skilful 
proficiency  ;  in  passing  judgment  on  others  we 
somehow  never  consider  them  as  learned  or  un- 
learned in  their  work,  we  require  that  they  shall 
be  geniuses.  The  average  person  in  a  gallery  is 
seeking  a  masterpiece  of  sublimity,  an  exposition  of 
transcendent  beauty  ;  he  never  asks :  Is  this  piece 
skilfully  done  ?  Is  that  one  strong  ?  Is  the  other 
one  brilliant  ?  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  then, 
that  he  overlooks  that  cunning  of  the  craftsman. 


TEXTUEES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  227 

that  sureness  of  the  hand  in  art,  which  might  pleas- 
urably  and  profitably  engage  his  attention.  Those 
who  seek  continually  after  stars  can  hardly  be  ex- 
pected to  admire  the  loveliness  of  field  flo\Yers.  Yet, 
shall  we  say  that  field  flowers  have  no  attractive- 
ness? It  cannot  be  claimed  for  brush  work  that  it 
is  the  highest  aim  of  art ;  neither  can  it  be  pushed 
aside  as  unworthy  of  consideration.  It  does  not, 
perhaps,  possess  the  sublimity  of  noble  design,  but 
at  least  it  has  the  virtue  of  perfect  achievement,  and 
in  this  perfection  there  is  a  beauty  which,  the  artists 
have  rightly  insisted,  should  have  its  proper  recog- 
nition. 

Brush  work  constitutes  the  painter's  style  as 
drawing  the  draughtsman's  style.  Each  of  them  is 
analogous  to  the  style  of  the  writer  upon  which  we 
lay  considerable  stress  in  our  criticism.  In  both 
literature  and  painting,  that  which  is  said  is  doubt- 
less of  more  importance  than  the  manner  of  its 
saying  ;  but  again,  we  need  not  be  so  extreme 
as  to  conclude  that  because  the  matter  is  some- 
thing, therefore  the  manner  is  nothing.  We  appre- 
ciate the  simplicity  of  Cardinal  Newman,  the  im- 
petuous power  of  INIacaulay,  the  ornate  splendor  of 
Theophile  Gautier  ;  why  should  we  overlook  these 
same  qualities  when  shown  in  the  paintings  of 
Giorgione,  Tintoretto,  and  Paolo  Veronese  ?  The 
individuality  of  the  man,  which  is  so  apparent  in 


228  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

the  writer,  is  hardly  less  apparent  in  the  painter. 
When  people  write  or  paint  they  may  describe 
things,  but  in  doing  so  they  record  themselves. 
Those  great  Renaissance  painters  !  how  well  and 
truly  they  wrote  their  autobiographies  upon  the 
walls  and  altars  of  the  Italian  churches  !  We  might 
know  the  character  of  the  men,  had  Vasari  never 
lived  and  had  German  historical  research  never 
traced  baptismal  records  and  consulted  tombstones. 
The  autobiography  in  literature  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  kinds  of  reading  ;  the  autobiography  in 
art  is  not  less  so.  Who  would  not  rather  learn 
something  of  Tintoretto  in  his  style,  than  something 
of  his  Venetian  senators  in  their  portraits  ?  Who 
cares  for  Rembrandt's  sitters  as  compared  with 
Rembrandt  himself?  And  is  not  the  character  of 
Velasquez  as  shown  in  his  art  quite  as  interesting  as 
the  royalty  he  portrayed  ?  "  The  pencil  speaks  the 
tongue  of  every  land."  It  speaks  the  varying  nat- 
ures of  many  men,  their  views,  ideals,  sentiments, 
feelings.  We  cannot  afford  to  despise  it,  for  it  is  a 
part  of  our  universal  history. 

By  brush  work  I  mean  simply  a  manner  of  put- 
tin;,'  on  paint.  An  easy  thing,  to  be  sure,  and  many 
think  it  done  the  best  when  the  method  of  its  doing 
is  quite  imperceptible.  I  do  not  know  how  the 
opinion  ever  obtained,  but  it  seems  still  to  exist 
in  many  quarters,  that  a  picture  which  is  as  smooth 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  229 

as  porcelain  in  its  surface  nius-t  be  a  very  fine  work  ; 
whereas,  on  the  contrary,  one  that  shows  brush- 
marks  and  rough  facture  must  be  a  very  bad  work. 
Let  me  disabuse  your  mind  of  that  idea  if  you  pos- 
sess it.  The  smooth  canvas  is  more  likely  to  be 
weak  and  worthless  than  the  rough  one— especially 
if  it  be  a  modern  picture.  Raphael,  Michael  Ange- 
lo,  Leonardo,  Fra  Bartolommeo,  all  painted  smooth 
pictures,  but  they  were  not  remarkable  for  being 
good  painters.  That  may  sound  to  you  like  a 
strange  statement  in  view  of  the  reputation  of  these 
men,  but  please  note  that  I  use  the  word  painters. 
They  were  among  the  greatest  artists  the  world  has 
produced,  but  they  lived  in  an  age  when  handling 
was  almost  in  its  infancy,  when  there  was  little  ex- 
pression derived  from  the  brush,  and  when  the  pure- 
ly sensuous,  the  brilliant,  the  vivacious  qualities  of 
painting  were  undeveloped.  Line  and  composition 
were  their  reliance,  and  impressiveness,  dignity, 
gi-ace,  or  grandeur  their  usual  aim.  Painting  was 
little  more  than  a  filling-in  of  circumscribed  spaces 
with  different  colors.  The  outline  was  made  first 
and  the  color  was  added — with  great  effect  surely, 
considering  the  materials  used  and  the  lack  of  brush 
knowledge  at  that  lime  ;  but,  nevertheless,  as  com- 
pared to  later  ])aiiiting,  quite  immature.  Men  like 
Leonardo,  Raphael,  P(>rngino,  Lorenzo  di  Credi 
worked  over  their  canvases  in  a  way  that  is  almost 


230  AKT   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

painful  to  behold  in  its  nicety  and  accuracy.  They 
were  all  dreadfully  afraid  their  brush  would  slip 
over  the  edge  or  impinge  upon  the  line.  The  great 
Leonardo  !  he  who  was  so  bold  and  self-reliant  in 
invention,  apparently  handled  a  brush  with  the 
timidity  of  an  academy  art-student.  Nor  did  any- 
one of  those  around  him  have  the  courage  to  use 
paint  boldly,  directly,  enthusiastically,  sacrificing 
smooth  surfaces  to  expressive  pigment,  as  Delacroix 
sacrificed  legs  and  arms  to  expressive  line.  It  was 
not  for  them  to  give  that  embellishment  to  art 
whe^'ein  we  see  the  clear  eye  and  the  sure  swift 
hand  of  the  trained  technician.  Perhaps  they  did 
not  need  it  ;  they  certainly  did  nobly  without  it ; 
and  it  is  not  the  privilege  of  anyone  to  slur  them 
nor  do  other  than  honor  them.  Yet  it  is  a  con- 
ceded fact  in  art  criticism  that  the  Florentines  were 
not  mature  brushmen,  and  I  state  simply  the  fact 
that  you  may  appreciate  the  Venetians  who  were 
mature  brushmen. 

It  was  Giorgione,  Titian,  and  their  school  who 
inaugurated  and  brought  to  maturity  the  painter's 
art.  Line  and  composition,  which  in  their  time 
even  in  the  Venetian  school  held  high  rank,  were 
not  disregarded,  but  were  made  to  share  with  color 
and  brush  work  the  task  of  pleasing  the  eye.  Neat- 
ness, fineness,  exactness  gave  way  to  facility,  effec- 
tiveness,   force.     The    monochrome    ground    upon 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  231 

which  the  Florentines  and  Komans   depended   for 
transparency  was   pushed   aside,   and  Titian  based 
his  picture  in  thick  color,  using  this  as  a  foundation 
to  build  upon.     There  is  only  the  second-hand  tes- 
timony  of   Palma   Giovine   to   Titian's   method  of 
painting  left  us,  but  it  is   known  that  he  worked 
over  his  pictures  a  great  deal,  amending  and  alter- 
ing (it  is  said  with  his  fingers,  which  he  greatly  pre- 
ferred to  his  brush),  and  what  with  a  kneading  of 
the  under-pigments  and  transparent  surface  glazes, 
he  produced  that  richness  of  coloring,  that  warmth 
of  flesh,  and  strength  of  touch,  so  characteristic  of 
his  work.     The  object  of  his  art,  like  that  of  the 
Florentines,  was  to  express  pictorial  creations,  but 
he  chose  to  embellish  his  work  by  color  and  bril- 
liancy of  handling  for  the  purpose  of  pleasing  the 
eye.     How  well  he  succeeded  in  this  may  be  judged 
from  the  fact  that  painters  and    lovers  of  art  for 
art's  sake  date  the  beginning  of  painting  from  Ti- 
tian or   Correggio,  not   from   the  early  Italians  or 
Raphael  ;  as  the  book-lover  may  date  the  beginning 
of  fine  printing  from  Froben  or  Elzevir,  not  from 
Coster  or  Gutenberg.     Almost  all  of  the  Venetians 
were   remarkable    for  skilful   fingers.     Tintoretto's 
brush  was  headlong  and  impetuous,  at  times  hasty 
and  even  ineffective,   but  at  its   best   powerful    in 
directness   and    8])lcndid    in    strength.     Giorgione, 
Pulma,  Vecchio,  I'moIo  Veronese  were  all  masters  of 


232  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

the  craft,  and  even  the  last  of  the  great  Venetians, 
Tiepolo,  inherited  in  no  slight  degree  the  painter's 
skill  of  his  predecessors. 

But  the  Venetians  did  not  exhaust  the  resources 
of  the  brush.  Many  men  with  many  styles  were  to 
come  after.  The  style  of  Rubens  was  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  Tintoretto.  One  was  hasty  and 
disposed  to  run  riot ;  the  other  was  swift  enough 
but  sure,  measured  but  certain,  free  and  yet  con- 
strained by  a  strong  intelligence.  Rubens's  hand, 
one  of  the  most  adroit  and  certain  hands  that  ever 
used  a  brush,  moved  to  the  dictates  of  Rubens's 
mind,  touching,  recording,  impressing  in  the  very 
spirit  of  that  mind.  With  him  there  is  no  fire  of 
hand  except  as  secondary  to  a  fire  of  thought.  The 
stroke  is  premeditated,  sensitive,  absolutely  ti'uth- 
ful.  With  these  qualities  he  combined  a  simplicity 
— a  way  of  doing  great  things  with  slight  means — 
that  forms  of  itself  a  beauty  in  painting.  Neither 
the  porcelain  surface  niggled  over  with  so  great  care, 
nor  the  rough  plaster  surface  dashed  on  with  so  lit- 
tle care  attracted  him.  Fromentin,  himself  an  ar- 
tist with  exceptional  advantages  for  studying  Ru- 
bens's style,  wrote  of  him  :  "  He  does  not  load,  he 
paints  ;  he  does  not  build,  he  writes  ;  his  hand 
glides  lightly  over  the  ground,  coaxing  a  little  here, 
strengthening  a  bit  there  ;  with  thin  and  limpid 
drag  he  spreads  a  broad  glaze,  suiting  its  consist* 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  233 

ency,  degree  of  breadth,  or  finesse  to  each  separate 
passage  of  his  work."  Infallibly  he  knows  where 
to  touch  and  where  to  leave  untouched,  where  to 
place  a  light  and  w'here  a  dark,  where  a  full  tone 
and  where  a  broken  one.  There  is  no  need  to  ques- 
tion, the  mind  knows  ;  there  is  no  need  to  hesitate, 
the  eye  sees  ;  there  is  no  need  to  tremble,  the  hand 
moves.  So,  at  least,  it  appears  to  us  in  examining 
the  results  of  his  brush.  There  is  in  the  Lichten- 
stein  Gallery,  at  Vienna,  a  picture  of  a  woman's 
nude  back  with  yellow  hair  streaming  down  it,  that 
is,  perhaps,  the  simplest  and  yet  most  powerful 
piece  of  painting  in  all  the  world  of  art.  The  abso- 
lute knowledge  of  effect,  the  sureness  of  the  hand, 
the  skilful  ease  with  which  the  brush  travels,  are 
really  astounding. 

And  what  is  the  object  of  all  this,  you  ask?  To 
make  the  scene  on  canvas  more  effective  and  more 
beautiful  in  tlie  manner  of  its  telling  ;  to  bring  us 
nearer  to  the  personality  of  the  artist,  which  we 
may  see  in  every  combination  of  color,  manage- 
ment of  light,  modelling  of  form,  handling  of  stuffs. 
We  shall  not  know  tlie  Raising  of  the  Cross  and 
the  Descent,  the  Calvary  and  the  Crucifixion,  with- 
out also  knowing  Rubens  the  brilliant  stylist,  Ru- 
bens the  splendid  colorist,  Rubens  the  strong  tech- 
nician. We  like  Shakespeare's  ideas,  but  after  all 
there  is  little  that  is  actually  new  in  them.     The 


234  ART  FOR  art's   SAKE 

plays  recite  thoughts  that  have  passed  vaguely 
through  the  minds  of  many  men  at  different  times. 
But  none  in  all  the  world  has  so  well  expressed 
them  as  Shakespeare.  In  other  words  Shake- 
speare's style  counts  for  much.  Why  not  that  of 
Rubens  ? 

Rembrandt  never  had  the  great  facility  of  Ru- 
bens, but  he  was  hardly  less  powerful  in  his  results. 
In  his  early  and  middle  style  of  painting  he  finished 
rather  minutely  and  with  smooth  surfaces,  but  later 
on  he  loaded  heavily  and  positively.  Some  of  these 
late  canvases  appear  to  have  been  dragged  and 
thumbed  somewhat  like  those  of  Titian  ;  the  pig- 
ments are  laid  over  and  worked  through  ;  and  he 
did  not  seem  to  think  that  art  consisted  in  conceal- 
ing art,  for  his  brush  (or  thumb)  can  be  traced  in 
its  movements  through  many  of  his  canvases.  The 
effect  secured  by  Rembrandt  in  his  work  is  usually 
most  potent,  but  the  means  he  employed  for  obtain- 
ing the  effect  appear  rather  compounded  at  times 
by  the  sacrificing  of  color  to  light. 

Velasquez  was  much  simpler  in  method.  He  was 
a  painter  of  things  in  mass  rather  than  in  detail, 
and  to  get  character  without  elaboration  or  hard- 
ness he  used  broad  light  sweeps  of  the  brush  from 
the  very  beginning  of  the  picture.  He  did  not 
catch  at  nor  emphasize  any  particular  feature. 
Light,  form,  color,  all  were  but  a  part  of  a  uni' 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  235 

versal  whole,  and  to  paint  the  whole  with  truthful- 
ness of  effect  and  frankness  of  manner  was  his  aim. 
Mixing,  kneading,  overlaying  of  pigments  were  quite 
foreign  to  his  methods.     His  painting  appears  to  be 
done  once,  no  more,  as  though,  like  Lambro's  sword- 
thrust,  his  first  stroke  left  little  need  for  a  second 
one.     Everywhere    in   his   canvases   he    shows   the 
trained  hand  of  a  most  skilled  technician  ;  and  it  is 
the  consciousness  of  power  we  receive  from  such 
work  that  gives  us  so  large  a  part  of  the  pleasure 
we  feel  in  looking  at  it     He  was  one  of  the  great 
masters  of  the  brush,  and  when  it  is  taken  into  con- 
sideration that  his  other  artistic  qualities  were  not 
inferior  to  his  skill  as  a  painter,  we  have  one  whose 
greatness  the  world,  with  all  its  admiration  for  him, 
has  not  yet  appreciated.     Painting  reached  its  apo- 
gee with  Velasquez  ;  no  one  has  carried  it  higher. 
Long  time  after  him,  in  Spain,  Goya  seems  to  have 
partly  inherited  and  cultivated  his  style  ;  but  Goya, 
though  a  clever  handler  of  the  brush,  had  not  the 
freedom   from    eccentricity  of   Velasquez,   nor   the 
calm  robust  spirit  that  characterizes  great  genius. 

From  men  like  Velasquez,  veritable  Shakespeares 
of  the  brush,  who  maintain  the  equilibrium  of  style 
and  thought,  permitting  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other  to  be  oblrusivcly  proniiiient,  we  may  go  back 
to  the  little  Dutchmen,  Hals,  Steen,  Terburg,  who 
had  not  much  to  say,  but  had  a  charming  way  of 


236  AET   FOR  ART'S   SAKE 

saying  it.  It  can  hardly  be  considered  extravagant 
to  assert  that  we  would  know  little  and  care  less  for 
the  pictures  of  Franz  Hals,  were  it  not  that  he  pos- 
sessed a  vigorous  style — an  individual  style.  There 
is  a  strong  characterization  about  his  portraits,  but 
that  would  hardly  be  noticed  were  it  not  for  the 
easy  strength  of  their  handling.  He  seems  to  have 
been  gifted  with  clever  fingers,  for  in  looking  at  his 
work  we  cannot  imagine  he  ever  served  an  appren- 
ticeship. His  work  is  not  labored  nor  studied,  but 
improvised,  struck  off  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 
Veron  says  quite  truly  of  him  :  "  He  launches  his 
brush  upon  the  canvas,  and  that  with  so  great  cer- 
tainty and  address  that  it  always  falls  upon  the  pre- 
cise spot  where  it  is  wanted,  and  never  remains 
there  one  moment  longer  than  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  production  of  the  required  effect.  We  can- 
not conceive  him  deliberating  over,  retouching,  or 
correcting  his  work.  He  carries  out  his  idea  at 
once  and  never  returns  to  it."  He  has  no  great 
imagination,  but  he  has  an  enthusiasm  in  his  style 
that  is  contagious  with  the  observer  ;  he  is  not 
much  of  a  poet,  but  he  is  a  sparkling  embodiment 
of  dash  and  spirit ;  he  is  not  profound,  but  he  is 
decidedly  clever  in  perception  and  brilliant  in  ex- 
position. Some  artists  seek  for  the  glory  of  the 
high  ideal,  and  some  for  the  verve  of  perfect  skill ; 
there  is  beauty  in  both,  and  it  is  not  necessary  that 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK     237 

we  should  institute  any  comparisons  as  to  which  is 
the  more  beautiful.  If  there  is  an  attractiveness 
about  the  style  of  Franz  Hals,  then  let  us  enjoy  it 
as  such  and  be  thankful  that  he  possessed  not  the 
insipidity  of  Sassoferrato,  the  sterility  of  Denner, 
nor  the  prettiness  of  Van  der  Werff. 

Of  Steen's  style  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  wrote  that 
"  it  might  become  even  the  design  of  Raphael,"  and 
Lord  Ronald  Gower,  evidently  somewhat  surprised, 
wonders  what  could  have  made  Sir  Joshua  write 
"that  astounding  statement."  But  Sir  Joshua  was 
right,  and  there  is  nothing  "  astounding  "  about  the 
statement  except  its  truth,  which  is  always  more  or 
less  shocking  to  us.  The  Italian,  with  all  his  gran- 
deur of  conception  and  nobility  of  design,  was  no 
match  for  the  Dutchman  in  manipulating  the  paint- 
brush. It  was  Raphael's  weak  point ;  it  was  Steen's 
strong  one.  The  one  man  was  a  great  artist  ;  the 
other  man  was  simply  a  fine  painter.  Steen,  like 
Hals,  Terburg,  Brouwer,  Teniers,  and  the  major- 
ity of  Dutch  and  Flemish  genre  painters,  was  not 
hampered  with  great  ideas  and  fine  frenzies.  His 
thoughts  and  subjects  were  commonplace,  often  low, 
which  was  bad  ;  he  was  satirical,  which  was  pos- 
sibly worse,  for  painting  is  not  much  of  a  medium 
for  satire  though  cartooning  or  caricaturing  may 
be  ;  and  he  was  comic,  often  funny,  which  was  worst 
of  all,  for  there  is  nothing  funny  about  painting. 


238  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

But  if  his  head  was  not  always  well-balanced,  nor 
his  taste  refined  and  elegant,  his  fingers  were  cer- 
tainly skilful,  and  a  fresher,  crisper,  more  attractive 
way  of  painting  would  be  hard  to  find  in  the  Dutch 
schools. 

The  English  school,  except  Sir  Joshua  and  some 
few  others,  never  excelled  in  brush-work,  nor  have 
the  Germans  any  remarkable  men  of  the  brush  in 
their  past  art-history.  Among  the  more  modern  of 
the  French  painters  Boucher,  though  clever  of  hand, 
was  rather  frivolous  ;  Fragonard  was  uneven,  often 
painting  with  brilliant  force  and  at  other  times  de- 
generating into  weakness  ;  while  Chardin — the  still, 
neglected  and  comjjaratively  unknown  Chardin — 
and  Watteau  were  perfect  painters,  each  in  his  pe- 
culiar field.  The  work  of  Watteau  is  the  embodi- 
ment of  liveliness  and  beauty,  but  it  is  in  a  light 
strain.  He  is  to  Paolo  Veronese  as  a  Heine  to  a 
Goethe,  beautiful  in  what  he  attempts  but  not  at- 
tempting the  very  great.  Content  with  a  lawn 
party  or  an  interior  of  fashionably  dressed  people 
for  a  subject,  he  is  likewise  content  with  extreme 
cleverness,  brilliancy  of  effect,  and  playfulness  of 
touch.  His  style  strikes  one  as  an  affectation,  but 
in  reality  it  is  a  serious  and  most  skilful  painting 
of  the  affected  characters  and  subjects  of  the  Or- 
leans Regency. 

David,  Ingres,  and  their  following  were  draughts- 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  239 

men  and  advocates  of  line,  not  painters  in  the  pres- 
ent sense  of  the  word.  Delacroix  revolted  against 
their  view  in  favor  of  an  art  with  more  feeling,  pas- 
sion, and  emotion  ;  and  the  revolt  was  one  of  meth- 
ods as  well  as  of  conceptions.  The  new  handling  of 
Delacroix  was  designed  of  itself  to  interpret  certain 
moods  or  states  of  feeling,  and  within  the  limits  of 
painting  it  was  fairly  successful.  The  romantic 
thought,  productive  of  a  romantic  mood,  was  ex- 
pressed in  a  romantic  manner  ;  but  it  may  be  noted 
that  oftentimes  all  three  of  these  factors  with  Dela- 
croix are  better  suited  to  literature  than  to  paint- 
ing. The  literary  side  of  romanticism  influenced 
him  greatly,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  too  often 
tried  to  express  with  a  brush  an  emotional  sensa- 
tion not  readily  told  by  the  means  of  form  and 
color.  Though  a  skilful  painter  and  a  fine  colorist, 
he  seems  to  me  greater  in  his  conception  than  in 
his  execution,  and  deserving  of  more  honor  for  the 
original  view  of  art  he  revealed,  than  for  the  man- 
ner of  his  revealing  it. 

In  recent  years  there  has  been  a  great  deal  of 
painting  for  paint's  sake  in  France  which  has  re- 
sulted in  some  excellent  technicians  and  also  in  a 
good  many  extremists  who  have  brought  method 
into  contempt  by  extravagance.  With  the  good 
painters  one  might  spend  hours  describing  their 
different  styles  and  accomplishments,   but  I  must 


24:0  ART   FOR   art's   SAKE 

content  myself  at  this  time  with  noticing  only  a  few 
of  them.  Vollon's  style  is  a  never-ending  source  of 
admiration  Avith  painters  and  paint  lovers.  He  is  a 
master  of  the  brush  even  in  these  days  when  brush- 
mastery  has  become  an  art  in  itself.  It  seems  to 
him  the  merest  child's  play  to  brush  in  the  folds  of 
a  table-cloth,  the  side  of  a  china  bowl,  or  a  mass  of 
fruit  in  a  dish.  He  apparently  does  it  with  the 
careless  ease  of  an  ordinary  painter  laying  in  a 
ground  or  varnishing  a  canvas  (indeed,  I  have  been 
told  that  he  sometimes  paints  pots  and  pumpkins 
with  the  flat  of  his  forearm) ;  yet  so  far  from  being 
careless  in  efifect  each  stroke  he  makes  is  precision 
itself,  and  each  shade  or  tint  is  just  the  one  required 
and  no  other.  The  restorers  of  old  manuscripts 
have  a  method  of  brushing  over  the  parchment  with 
a  chemical  which  brings  to  the  light  the  blurred 
and  faded  characters  below  ;  Vollon's  brush  is  not 
unlike  the'rs  in  efiect.  His  hand  moves,  and  line, 
light,  color,  and  textures  follow  as  by  magic — the 
magic  of  perfect  skill.  On  account  of  his  great 
technical  powers,  his  fellows  of  the  craft  have  called 
him  "  the  painter's  painter,"  and  it  is  among  paint- 
ers that  his  work  is  held  in  the  highest  esteem. 
There  is  no  one  living  who  excels  him  in  his  way, 
and  for  this  accomplishment,  if  for  no  other,  he  de- 
serves the  high  rank  he  holds. 

Courbet,  scorning  both   classicism  and  romanti« 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  241 

cism  in  favor  of  realism,  used  to  hold  up  liis  fin. 
gers  exclaiming,  in  his  self-satisfied  conceited  way, 
"Painting  is  there."  Sure  enough  the  brush  part 
of  it  was  there  in  his  case.  Whatever  else  he  was 
or  was  not — "  reaUst,"  as  his  friends  chose  to  call 
him  ;  communist,  brutaHst,  and  "  drunken  Helot," 
as  his  enemies  named  him — he  at  least  possessed  the 
artist's  temperament  and  the  painter's  skill.  He  was 
a  moi'e  uneven  painter  than  Vollon,  often  doing  in- 
different commonplace  work,  but  at  his  best  strong 
as  a  Titan,  turbulent  as  a  Centaur,  and  moody  as 
Prometheus.  The  nature  of  the  artist,  the  subjects 
that  he  chose,  and  the  manner  of  his  treatment  all 
move  together  along  parallel  lines,  powerful  in  ef- 
fect, direct  in  action,  and  at  times  violent  and  revo- 
lutionary in  spirit.  There  is  a  certain  impetuous 
energy  in  his  brush,  as  though  his  work  were  done 
hastily  and  boastfully,  as  doubtless  it  was  ;  yet  there 
is  also  a  largeness  of  view  and  a  simplicity  of  touch 
about  it  tliat  show  a  keen  observer  and  a  learned 
painter.  Courbet's  fingers  made  art  of  a  decidedly 
strong  and  interesting  kind  ;  but  his  assum})tion 
that  there  was  no  art  beyond  that  of  the  fingers  was 
only  one  of  those  one-sided  inferences  which  betray 
a  one-sided  view. 

Before  Courbet  died  there  was  another  "  art  of 
the  fingers,"  another  style  of  brush-work  set  forth 
in  the  work  of  Mariano  Fortuny,  the  most  brilliant 
16 


242  ART   FOR   ART'S   SAKE 

painter  of  the  modern  Spanish  school.  It  caused 
quite  a  Parisian /"i^rory  in  the  sixties,  and  not  with- 
out reason.  For  Fortuny  seemed  to  have  inherited 
the  facihty  of  Goya,  and  added  to  it  a  glittering 
ornate  style  of  his  own.  A  man  of  ability,  a  shrewd 
observer  and  a  brilliant  recorder,  he  was  more  than 
the  "clever  painter " people  have  chosen  to  consider 
him  ;  he  was  an  admirable  artist.  Yet  as  that  por- 
tion of  life  which  he  was  permitted  to  live  (he  died 
at  thirty-six)  is  mainly  devoted  to  mastering  tech- 
nical conditions,  so  Fortuny's  art  is  perhaps  more 
remarkable  for  its  great  skill  than  its  profound  im- 
agination. His  style  was  the  embodiment  of  vi- 
vacity, captivating  by  its  deftness  of  hand,  dazzling 
by  its  sensuous  elegance,  and  startling  by  its  effects 
bordering  on  the  bizarre.  Nothing  in  nature  es- 
caped his  observation.  He  seized  upon  the  essences 
of  all  things,  not  despising  the  flash  of  a  mirror,  the 
sheen  of  a  silk,  the  polish  of  a  marble  ;  nor  passing 
by  the  gentle  lap  of  a  wave,  the  delicacy  of  a  flower, 
or  the  billowy  roll  of  a  cloud.  Wherever  he  could 
he  strewed  his  canvas  with  gem-like  flashes  of  color 
and  light,  touching  at  times  as  with  a  butterfly's 
wing,  and  again  dashing  down  with  strong  impulse. 
It  was  his  way,  and  a  charming  one  surely,  of  en 
livening  his  picture  and  pleasing  the  physical  as 
well  as  the  mind's  eye.  Poets  and  novelists  strew 
their  pages  with  simile,  metaphor,  and  imagery  to 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES.  AND  BRUSH  WORK     243 

brighten  the  theme  and  hold  the  reader's  attention  ; 
why  should  not  artists  employ  their  brushes  in  a 
similar  manner?  To  call  it  "  style  "  in  the  one,  and 
"  trickery  "  or  "  mere  cleverness  "  in  the  other,  is 
very  unjust,  not  to  say  absurd. 

In  landscape  there  has  been  much  expressive 
brush-work  shown  by  the  Fontainebleau-Barbizon 
group  of  painters — the  so-called  men  of  1830.  Each 
one  of  the  group  saw  a  particular  phase  of  nature 
and  invented  a  style  that  would  properly  interpret 
it.  To  Corot  all  things  were  bathed  in  pale  light ; 
mountains,  forests,  lakes,  marshes,  were  tinged  by 
it ;  and  a  haze  of  atmosphere  enveloped  the  scene. 
In  telling  this  beauty,  Corot  in  his  late  style  seemed 
to  paint  with  a  feathery  brush,  emphasizing  little, 
rubbing  and  blurring  much  for  atmospheric  effect, 
working  always  gently  and  tenderly  as  though  too 
strong  a  touch  would  sweep  away  the  illusion  of 
light.  The  style  embodied  the  conception  ;  it  could 
not  have  been  better.  But  how  different  in  his  no- 
bler canvases  was  Rousseau  !  He  looked  upon  the 
world  as  an  enduring,  steadfast,  eternal  thing,  a  some- 
thing solid,  mausive,  bulky.  Intuitively  his  brush 
paints  solidly.  He  does  not  skim  over  the  canvas  ; 
he  dashes  upon  it  with  a  full  brush.  He  does  not 
touch  hghtly  ;  he  loads  heavily.  He  does  not  draw 
and  fill  in  thinly  ;  he  models  broadly.  What  is  the 
result  ?     His  trees  are  strong,  deep,  full-rounded  ; 


244  ART  FOR  art's   SAKE 

his  earth  is  weighty,  massive,  expansive  ;  his  sky  ia 
the  firmament  of  the  days  of  creation,  and  his  clouds 
appear  like  steadfast  companies  of  white-winged 
ships  that  have  been  saihng  around  and  around  the 
globe  for  centuries.  Daubigny  and  Jules  Dupre 
were  somewhat  like  Rousseau  in  a  strong  manner  of 
doing  things  especially  in  marines ;  while  others  of 
the  school  like  Millet,  Troyon,  and  Jacque,  though 
excellent  in  sentiment  and  fair  technicians,  were 
not  remarkable  for  the  brilliancy  of  their  paint- 
ing, though  it  was  effective  and  well  suited  to  the 
themes  they  chose. 

I  need  not  further  attempt  to  describe  the  many 
different  styles  of  the  modern  artists  ;  for  I  doubt 
if  you  are  interested  in  hearing  about  the  methods 
of  men  with  whose  works  you  are  possibly  not  well 
acquainted.  I  wish,  however,  to  call  your  attention 
to  some  leading  men  in  the  different  schools,  so  that 
should  you  hereafter  see  good  examples  of  their 
works  you  may  particularly  notice  the  manner  of 
their  painting.  In  the  Spanish  school  Madrazo,  as 
well  as  Villegas  and  Rico,  have  somewhat  of  For- 
tuny's  style,  but  some  of  the  later  men  in  imitat- 
ing the  style  have  lost  the  spirit  of  Fortuny's  work, 
as  might  have  been  expected.  In  the  German 
school  Menzel,  Leibl,  and  Uhde  all  speak  different 
languages,  but  each  in  his  way  is  excellent.  In 
France,  Alfred  Stevens  has  a  charming  style,  but 


TEXTURES,   SURFACES,   AND  BRUSH  WORK     24f« 

it  is  not  always  seen  in  that  commercial  work  of 
which  so  much  has  come  into  this  country  of  late. 
Carolus-Duran  is  strong  and  brilliant  at  times ; 
Boldini,  a  Parisian-Italian,  is  dainty,  dehcate,  and  at 
times  powerful  ;  while  Gervex,  Latouche,  and  others 
are  facile  enough  with  the  brush  to  keep  up  the 
French  reputation  for  cleverness. 

These  names  you  have  often  heard  and  will 
doubtless  easily  remember  ;  but  I  wish  to  call  your 
attention  further  to  some  men  here  in  America 
whose  names  and  works  are  perhaps  not  so  famihar, 
yet  whose  rank  as  painters  is  not  below  the  rank 
of  those  whom  I  have  mentioned.  The  works  of 
Mr.  Chase  will  not  reveal  to  you  much  imaginative 
power,  they  do  not  attempt  to  reveal  it,  in  fact  they 
rather  scorn  it.  But  in  effective  brush-work,  in 
strong  handling,  they  will  compare  favorably  with 
the  work  of  any  painter  of  any  school.  He  is  a 
master  in  his  way,  and  you  will  find,  when  you 
come  to  study  his  pictures,  that  the  enthusiastic 
dash  of  his  brush,  the  certainty  of  his  hand,  make 
up  of  themselves  an  art  which  we  are  slow  to  ad- 
mire only  because  of  its  novelty — because  we  have 
not  the  painter's  point  of  view.  You  will  find  in 
Mr.  Sargent  as  complete  and  thoroughly  equipped 
a  portrait-painter  as  Europe  or  America  can  pro- 
duce. He  has  few  ecjuals  and  no  superior.  His 
brush-work    is    knowing   to    the    limit    of    present 


246  ART   FOR  art's   SAKE 

knowledge  ;  effective  as  hardly  any  brush-work  has 
been  since  the  beginning  of  this  century,  and  beau- 
tiful as  only  expression  can  become  in  the  hands 
of  genius.  There  is  no  better  work  to  be  seen  in 
modern  art.  You  will  find  in  Mr.  Blum  a  vivacity 
and  charm  of  manner  somewhat  like  tbiit  of  Wat- 
teau.  His  brush  touches  lightly,  gracefully,  quaint- 
ly at  times.  It  has  a  smack  of  Japanese  art  about 
it ;  it  sometimes  reminds  one  of  Whistler's  work, 
and  again  it  has  the  certainty  of  Alfred  Stevens. 
Never  very  profound  in  subject,  his  pictures  are  al- 
ways entertaining  in  method  ;  and  in  the  handling 
of  color  and  textures,  especially  in  pastel,  they  are 
clever  in  the  superlative  degree.  Differing  in  style 
from  those  I  have  mentioned,  yet  not  the  less  brill- 
iant in  their  way,  will  be  found  the  various  methods 
of  Dewing,  Wiles,  and  others  ;  while  in  landscape 
Inness,  Twachtmann,  Tryon,  lead  in  freshness  of 
painting  and  strength  of  impression.  While  we 
are  travelling  the  world  over,  viewing  old  masters 
in  Italy  and  new  masters  in  France,  it  may  be  well 
for  us  to  keep  an  eye  on  our  own  ;  for  here  in  this 
western  world  is  rising  a  school  of  painters  which 
we  do  not  as  yet  appreciate,  but  which  we  shall 
some  day  delight  to  honor. 

In  speaking  of  brush-work  I  began  by  calling  at- 
tention to  painting  under  the  early  Italians,  when 
form    was    dwelt   upon   and    painting   was   but    a 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  247 

smooth  filliag-in  of  enclosed  spaces.  It  was  then  in 
its  infancy.  Further  on  mention  was  made  of  the 
work  of  Titian,  Eubens,  Velasquez,  and  the  mod- 
erns as  representing  the  maturity  of  art  when  paint- 
ing became  expressive  of  style  and  personality, 
sharing  with  line  and  color  the  beauty  of  the  pict- 
ure. It  is  now  worth  while  to  point  out  a  tendency 
toward  over-maturity  or  exaggeration,  which  has 
begun  to  make  itself  apparent  in  some  directions. 
Artists  who  have  carried  out  ideas  in  a  perfect  style 
are  usually  followed  by  those  who  catch  at  the  style 
alone  and  carry  it  into  the  grotesque.  From  the 
ripeness  of  painting  there  has  been  an  inclLnation 
in  certain  schools  to  what  Mr.  Hamerton  calls  "over- 
ripeness."  It  is  shown  in  many  small  catchy  effects 
on  the  canvas,  in  the  distortion  of  the  true  relations 
of  objects,  in  isolated  glitters  and  glares  instead  of 
unity  and  concentration,  and  by  the  painty  over- 
running and  sometimes  obliteration  of  line.  The 
pictures  of  Monticelli,  who,  however,  only  aimed  at 
color  and  light,  will  instance  this  last  defect,  many 
of  the  impressionist  pictures  will  further  exemplify 
it ;  and  among  some  of  the  younger  Parisians  there 
is  a  tendency  to  heap  up  ineffectual  paint  in  at- 
tempts at  breadth  of  handling  and  relief  in  model- 
ling. All  this  is  merely  the  extravagance  that  usu- 
ally follows  in  the  wake  of  genius  and  has  no 
importance  in  itself.     Not  even  the  most  enthusias- 


248  AKT   FOR   art's   SAKE 

tic  lover  of  paint  can  rhapsodize  over  meaningless 
splashes  of  pigment.  Brush-work  must  be  shown 
to  have  an  ulterior  aim,  and  it  must  produce  a  de- 
cisive effect  to  command  applause.  If  rightly  used, 
it  is  an  embellishment  of  art,  and  in  some  cases  it 
is  art  itself.  I  will  not  say  it  is  the  highest  kind  of 
art.  After  all,  it  is  the  gem  of  thought  we  seek 
more  than  its  setting  ;  but  if  in  the  style  of  the 
setting  we  see  and  know  a  peculiar  beauty,  may  we 
not  draw  an  additional  pleasure  from  the  work  of 
art? 

Not  in  this  lecture  alone,  but  throughout  the 
whole  course,  I  have  spoken  to  you  more  of  art- 
methods  than  art-aims  ;  I  have  dwelt  upon  the  ap- 
pearances of  nature  as  we  may  see  them  about  us, 
and  as  the  modern  artists  portray  them  ;  I  have 
sought  to  call  your  attention  to  those  features  of 
painting  which  are  usually  overlooked  by  the  casual 
observer.  It  has  not  been  claimed  that  these  feat- 
ures are  superior  to  those  qualities  of  imagination 
and  feeling  which  so  truly  belong  to  greatness  in 
art  ;  but  it  has  been  claimed  that  they  possess  a 
beauty  of  their  own.  There  is  one  glory  of  the  sun, 
and  another  glory  of  the  moon,  and  another  glory 
of  the  stars.  There  is  a  time  and  place  for  each, 
and  because  we  enjoy  the  splendor  of  the  sun  is  no 
good  reason  why  we  should  overlook  or  disdain  the 
lustre  of  the  stars.     The  technical  beauties  of  paint' 


TEXTURES,  SURFACES,  AND  BRUSH  WORK  249 

ing  are  hardly  the  creative  beauties  of  painting,  but 
if  we  look  at  them  aright  we  shall  find  that  they 
have  a  chanu  of  expression  quite  worthy  of  our 
consideration.  I  hope  I  have  helped  you  in  some 
measure  toward  an  appreciation  of  them  by  calling 
your  attention  to  them.  Such  was  my  object  in 
preparing  these  lectures.  I  leave  them  with  you, 
and  for  the  kind  attention  you  have  accorded  to 
them  I  thank  you. 


r 


ff 


z^- 


\p 


% 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


s 

'^ 

'>'j 


(0  2 


f^  '^r 


rp 
■^ 


i 


^x 


c^' 


> 


% 


4^ 
#1 


University  of  California.  Los  Angeles 


L  005  213  748  6 


,a]AlNfl3\\V'' 


lOS-ANCElfx.> 


■i7l30NVSOV^        "^/^aJAINQ-i^^V 


-< 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  286  995    6 


aOdiW3JO^ 


30  = 


'^■^ 


=         ^ 


■    O 


i.QPTAllFO^^, 


>-  "r»      o 


I   -n         *— 


\WF  UNIVERS/A. 

^'         ^% 

^  ^  ^p^% 

i           $ 

\^l 

<                                         > 

<riuoNvsoi^ 

''■^/idi/MiNiliVsV 

% 


"JUJli'. 


vjjO"^ 


S^ 


O  =o 

'♦uujiivj  ju 


